


Experiment

by cvioleta



Series: Metamorphosis [4]
Category: Gotham (TV), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Creepy, F/M, Medical Experimentation, Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cvioleta/pseuds/cvioleta
Summary: This is going to fit into the Metamorphosis series eventually but I'm too lazy to figure out how to add it in the right spot and I gotta leave for work...haha.Takes place after No More Words.  Dr. Strange is fascinated by the psychiatric anomaly of the Joker's feelings for Harley and sees a rare opportunity to control the Joker, as well as any other metahuman sociopaths around.  In so doing, he hatches a diabolical plan to end that relationship forever.You really need to have read the previous stories to fully enjoy this, because I rewrote the heck out of the canon backstory.  :-)





	1. Chapter 1

              He woke up with a start at the harsh sound of the cell block doors clanging open, but willed himself not to react.  His internal clock told him it was 6:00 a.m., breakfast time for Arkham Asylum, and he neither smelled nor heard anything out of the ordinary.  So, merely to spite them, he lay there unmoving, allowing them not even the gratification of an eye twitch, as they shoved his food through the sliding tray into his cell.

              “Wake up, clown, I’m picking that back up in twenty minutes whether you’ve eaten it or not.”  The gruff voice belonged to a knuckle-dragger named Travis, easily one of the Joker’s least favorite guards.  Travis had a Confederate flag tattoo across his neck, and truly believed himself to be a superior creature, despite all evidence to the contrary.  The Joker’s own mother used to call people like Travis trash, and it made for a pleasant mental image of Travis being discarded in a dumpster and crushed to death alongside rotting vegetables and snotty tissues in some processing plant. 

              He frowned, still not opening his eyes.  He hadn’t thought of his mother in a long time and the mere thought of her, of the life he had lived so long ago, was unsettling and odd.  The cell block had sunk into silence except for the nauseating sounds of the inmates in nearby cells shoveling food into their mouths, so at last he opened his eyes.  He swung his long legs off the bed and was on his feet in one graceful motion, pulling the breakfast plate off the sliding tray and observing it with his usual skepticism.  Looking at the half-slice of stale toast and a lump of something that might have been oatmeal, he flashed back for a second to the luxurious breakfasts of his childhood…pancakes with maple syrup, fresh fruit and sweet cream, perfectly crispy bacon…

              The Joker shook his head, his green hair falling across his eyes.  He observed his own moods like a scientist studying a fascinating but potentially dangerous animal.  Nostalgia was not one of his habits, but he supposed he was bored.  He’d been back in Arkham for three months and it was positively mind-numbing.  Still, he liked to let them pretend from time to time that they could keep him locked up.  It didn’t do to reveal the full range of his capabilities to the enemy.  A wise man always came off a little slower than he actually was…pretended to make a mistake or two.  Screw up a little, get caught, get hurt, and they got cocky, thought they were smarter than you were.  Thought they had control. 

              They never had control.  But they never learned, _either_.  It was sort of amazing.  Even the Bat.  He hadn’t come to visit even _once_ this time.  The Joker was a little bit insulted, but it didn’t matter, he’d be reminding the flying rodent of his existence soon enough.  In fact, he’d originally planned to leave tonight and set his latest plan into motion, but then the grapevine had brought some interesting news.

              “I hear you’re getting a new doctor today,” announced Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, whose cell was the next one over. 

              The Joker cackled.  “Is that so?  Well, I _did_ break the last one…and the one before him…and the one before her.”  He examined his plate again, deciding the toast wasn’t too objectionable and took a bite, noticing with pleasure that they’d given him a carton of chocolate milk.  Flirting with old Beatrice in the kitchen had more than paid off…

              Crane cackled back; he was no fan of Arkham’s collection of psychiatric no-talents, and it had been a relief when J had been thoughtful enough to snap Dr. Roesler’s neck and save them both from more of his inane questions.  Adversaries on the outside, in Arkham Crane and the Joker got along well enough, taking turns playing mind games with the staff, none of whom approached their own intellectual level.  Sometimes they even worked as a team to see how quickly they could drive a guard insane and make them disappear forever.  But invariably, when they got out, their rivalry fired back up again, both having far too much ego to share the spotlight with another villain. 

              “Oooh don’t break this one, she’s pretty.”  Crane advised, dragging out the last word like a catcall.

              The Joker snorted derisively.  “She’ll still be pretty with a broken neck, and then she won’t talk and ruin it.”

              “You didn’t seem to mind the talking with Harl-“

              Crane ducked and swore in surprise as the Joker’s plate bounced off the bars of his cell, splattering oatmeal everywhere.

              “Don’t _ever_ say that name in my presence again,” the Joker hissed. 

* * *

              “Enjoying the show, my dear?”

              Harley spun around to see Dr. Strange on the other side of the glass wall that kept her prisoner, doing her best to blink back the tears in her eyes.  She opened her mouth to respond but he put up a hand.

              “Shhhh, there’s no need to launch into your usual diatribe about how I’m going to pay for this.  I’m familiar with it by now and I do wish you’d come up with a new reaction.  It’s getting a tad…predictable.  And I thought you were anything but.”

              She pressed her lips together and glared at the mad doctor.  He was right, in a way – she needed to stop giving him the satisfaction of a response.  _It’s as if you’ve forgotten how bullies work.  Wake up, Harley, stop playing right into his hands!_

Tomorrow, she would not react.  If she convinced Strange that she no longer cared about J, perhaps she could find her way out of here.   Resolved to ignore the doctor, she sat back down on the bed and opened a book.  Finally she heard the sound of footsteps as he walked away.  Once he was gone, she threw the book down and went back to pacing her room like a caged animal…which is exactly what she was.

              The room was a glass cube with a concrete floor.  They had made efforts to make it look more like a real bedroom than a cell; she had a nice bed with a comforter, an armchair for reading, a monitor ( _for torture purposes_ , Harley thought) and even a curtain in front of the commode (although she had no doubt there were cameras and they watched her; they watched _everything_ ).  She could have any books she wanted to read, but as a psychiatrist herself, she knew Strange was analyzing every possible bit of data, so she stubbornly stuck to the classics although they bored her.   They distracted her, at least, and she needed that.  Needed something, anything, to take her mind off the loss of everything she held dear, J, her friends, her freedom. 

              Harley Quinn, the woman who had once been Dr. Harleen Quinzel, was nothing more than a lab rat, and she knew it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to hell, my boss is out of the office and I sat here writing Joker and Harley smut. This is why I'll never be an adult...
> 
> This chapter has a flashback and we'll meet an original character who's going to factor very heavily into the outcome of this story!

_Six months earlier_

          Harley was putting away groceries in the kitchen when she heard a crash from the office.  She tiptoed over and stuck her head around the corner, mindful of the possibility that more theatrics were yet to come.

          “Puddin?”

          The only response was a frustrated growl.    She peeked inside the door to see him standing in his bare feet, wearing nothing but a pair of old black sweat pants that hung too low on his narrow hips, amid shards of glass and splatters of dark liquor.   

          “Is there something I can do?” she asked.

          “Can you turn back time?” he snapped.  She had to stifle the urge to break out in song, recognizing that this _might_ not be a time he would find her Cher impersonation funny. Harley settled for giving him a quizzical look and remaining quiet.  

          “The Gotham Museum has a new system that _randomly_ changes the alarm codes.  Right when they’ve got something I really want.  _I’m_ the only one who’s supposed to be random!”  

Harley disappeared for a second and returned with a dustpan to pick up the glass pieces.  He stepped back to let her but never took a breath, intent on his rant.

          “-the entire thing was planned!  Now I have to change everything. _This_ is a waste of my valuable time.”  He huffed, completely disgruntled.  She noticed that he’d stepped into the glass, of course, and there were some trickles of blood running from his bare feet, and made a note to herself to clean up the wounds later whenever he finally stopped moving.  

          “Couldn’t Selina help you crack the new codes?” Harley asked.

          “Hmph.  If she could get in, she’d have already taken this for herself.”  He settled himself back at his polished mahogany desk, covered with blueprints and paperwork, as Harley cleaned up the last of the mess with a wet rag.  

          “Taken what?  What’s the target?” she asked.

          “The Heart of Darkness.  It’s the largest black diamond in the history of the world annndddddd…” he drew out the word, theatrical as always, “it can summon a demon of revenge!  The perfect henchman!  I’d be unstoppable.”  

          Harley had seen a great many odd things in the time since she’d left her old life as Dr.  Harleen Quinzel to live life by the Joker’s side, and she no longer discounted the possibility that there was indeed a diamond that could summon a demon, but she was far from sure that was a good idea.  She also knew by now that telling J that something was not a good idea was not…productive, but she had her ways around _that_.  She didn’t have a Ph.D for nothing!   So she gave him her best, big blue eyed look and smiled.

          “That would be awesome.   I bet he could smush Batman like a bug!”  The Joker grinned at her words.  “How do you keep the demon from turning on you?” she asked, the picture of innocence, the question carefully worded to make it seem as though she assumed he already had the answer.

          She watched with an internal smirk of satisfaction that she was far too smart to show on her face as his smile faltered, but as usual he recovered quickly.

          “First things first.  Can’t summon a demon with a diamond we don’t _have._ ”  He strode over to the glass wall of their penthouse and stared out, angrily, as though the answer was somewhere in the city, hiding under a dumpster or a junker car, maliciously evading him.  

          “Can’t think of a plan when you haven’t eaten all day,” Harley pointed out.  “What would you like for dinner?”

          He turned slowly to look at her and she watched as his expression changed, the anger morphing into something else, just as hot but infinitely preferable – at least as far as she was concerned.  In a couple of long strides, he was right in front of her.  Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse sped up and he hadn’t even touched her, just backed her up into the wall with the sheer force of his overwhelming presence.  Their faces were inches apart.

          “I don’t think that I’m hungry for _food_ , Harley.  I think I might be able to think a little more _clearly_ after something else…”

          Harley licked her lips.  “I’m always ready and eager to help you reach your _full_ potential.”  

          He silenced her with a kiss, rough as always but it sent chills down her spine.  She pressed herself into him, her fingers digging into the small of his back, making no effort to hide her lust from him. She had long since stopped even trying to pretend with him, to play the hard-to-get, come-chase-me games that had come so easily to her with other men.  Part of her had feared he’d get bored with her if she was too easy, but the very first time she’d tried to introduce even a _hint_ of challenge into the equation with him, he’d laughed at her and refused to touch her for two weeks, spending most of that time walking around the penthouse naked and (she was convinced) striking poses meant to drive her wild.  He’d made her beg for it, literally and repeatedly, before he touched her again, and she’d learned her lesson.

          Of course, he did like it when she fought him, _especially_ now that Selina had taught her to fight well, but only as foreplay, only as part of a game that they both knew would only end one way.  He loved violence in any form, loved the illusion of forcing her to submit and wasn’t averse to a little pain himself.  Remembering this, she slid her hands under his shirt and raked her nails down his bare back, just hard enough to sting.  He chuckled low in his throat and slid his lips down her neck, biting it and making her gasp.  

          "I love it when you're dressed like Dr. Quinzel.  Reminds me of the fun of corrupting you back then," he murmured against her neck.  Harley realized she was still in her going-out-shopping look – a pastel blue hoodie, black yoga pants, sneakers, bronzer to make her look tan and a blonde wig in a ponytail.  

          "This is my soccer mom look. Probably who I'd be by now except that I met you," she said with a giggle as he slowly slid the zipper down on her hoodie, exposing her red lace bra and the flat stomach below it.  

          "Hmmm...Well, you could have just stayed my doctor and treated me...y'know, bit my tongue off when I kissed you," he mused, sliding down and licking a nipple through the lace.  Harley shivered in pleasure.  

          "I could have but the truth is..."  She closed her eyes, remembering those moments back in the treatment room, still feeling the anticipation she'd felt in the pit of her stomach, never knowing what he might do, torn between fear and desire.  

          "Yes?  You have to tell the truth, _nothing_ but the truth," he recited in his best Gotham PD voice while his hands slid her pants off her narrow hips.  

          "The truth...is that when you kissed me, I had already been fantasizing about you for weeks...aaaaah!"  He had one hand tracing around her breasts through the lace and now the other was drawing circles on the silky fabric between her legs.  Her lips were quivering and her knees had gone weak; she thought that without the wall behind her back, she might simply slide to the floor in a puddle.  

          "I don't think you ever told me about that before.  Naughty girl, keeping secrets and holding out on me.  So tell me...exactly what were you imagining?"  

          "In our sessions, I used to think about how it would feel...how you would feel," she said, running her hands over his biceps. They felt like they were carved out of stone, they always did, he was the fittest person she had ever met...every part of him was firm.  She quivered at the thought.  "I wanted to touch you so badly, but I fought it. I think I knew there was no going back if I crossed that line."

          "You know what I thought about?"  He punctuated his comment with a bite to the side of her rib cage that made her suck in her breath sharply.  She couldn't think about anything but his hands on her and tried not to squirm but she could feel how wet she was and knew he could feel it too.  Her body was a bad liar even if _she_ was an excellent one, and she had never been able to hide her obsession from him.  

          "What?" She was breathless and could hardly get the simple word out.  

"How you'd taste."    


          She felt a sharp sting at her hip as he ripped her panties off with one harsh pull, but it was forgotten a heartbeat later. His fingers dug into her ass, scratching her, as his tongue dove between her folds, swiping back and forth directly over her clit and then driving inside her.  Harley moaned and ran her fingers through his green locks. He wasn't like anyone else she had ever been with. She had almost fallen asleep one time when her ex was going down on her but J did _nothing_ halfway; he was as rough and unrelenting with his mouth as with his cock and it never took long for him to reduce her to incoherent moans.  Even with the wall for support, her knees were shaking and she felt herself start to clench around his tongue.  She was so sensitive that it was almost too much to bear; she rose on her toes, involuntarily pulling away a bit but she heard him laugh as he followed her motion.  He slipped two fingers inside of her to rub against her g-spot and she came hard, clinging to his head and leaning on the wall, moaning and crying out his name.  

          Just as he liked.  She was his and his power over her was proof of that.  

          He didn't give her any time to catch her breath.  He never did.  Just picked her up and swung her around and then she was flat on her back on his desk, the plans he'd been working on flying everywhere in a shower of paper.  He grabbed her hips, pulled her to the edge, shoved his own pants out of the way and drove into her, clamping one hand over her mouth to muffle her screams.  

          "Don't want to scare the boys. They'll think I'm _murdering_ you up here."  

          He managed to get his other hand around both of her tiny wrists and pinned them to the desk above her head.  She put up a show of struggling against his grip, but they both knew she loved it.  Loved being held down, squirming, trying to scream, _needing_ to because it was so intense she had to express it somehow...how many times had her rebellious mind imagined this as an outcome of one of their sessions back at Arkham?  How many times had she desperately tried to focus, tried not to look at him with lust, even when he would yawn and stretch his arms over his head, giving her a peek at the cut muscles of his stomach?  

          Even after a few years together, she still had chills down her spine when he walked into a room.  And it didn't matter what he did, what he would do, what he was capable of. She had no power to resist the drug that was the Joker, to turn down another hit of the pleasure only he could provide.  He could end any argument by touching her.  

          She wrapped her legs around him, hooking her ankles together behind his back and arched her own back, trying to drive herself even closer to him, and came again, clenching around him and convulsing off the desk, pushing him over the edge into his own orgasm. He groaned deep in his throat as he emptied himself into her.  The world went black before her eyes and she wondered for a moment if she was going to pass out.   


_Wouldn't be the first time..._

          But this time her vision cleared after a second and she looked up, and he was grinning at her, his green hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his blue eyes gleaming with inspiration.

"I just thought of how to get that diamond!"

* * *

_Present day_

          Julie knocked on the door of Dr. Strange’s office, her heart in her throat.  She didn’t know why she was so worried that she’d meet with his approval; knowing him, he had programmed that into her in some subtle way.  

          He opened the door for her and ushered her in, taking her hand and leading her over to the brightest part of the room.

          “You look absolutely perfect, my dear.”

          She tilted her head, her long auburn hair following the motion and falling over one eye.  “I don’t look too much like her?  It’s not too obvious?”

          “Not in the least.”  He smiled, showing his approval.  “You look like…her cousin perhaps. There is a resemblance but not an obvious one. Just as we planned.”

          “ _We” assumes I had a say in the matter,_ Julie thought but she kept that to herself.  Strange creeped her out and she wasn’t sure he had any ethics at all, but the research itself was fascinating and the bottom line was this was going to pay off 100% of her student loans including medical school in just two years’ time.   Had she gone too far, consenting to plastic surgery?  She told herself it had been an improvement; before, she was high-school-cheerleader pretty, but now she was a knockout.  How could it have been a bad decision?

          Only if it rendered her dead, she reminded herself.  “I need to know what the security will be like during our sessions.  He’s killed seven people in three months here.  How do I know I’m not number eight?”

          Strange laughed, a noise that seemed ill-suited to him, like he used it so rarely that it was rusty.  “Why would I spend so much money on you if I was going to let you get killed?”

          “It wasn’t your money and the expected result of the experiment may be my death,” she replied simply.  A moment of real admiration flitted across his face, one that was not lost on her, before he answered.

          “I shall set your mind at ease, Dr. Landis.  This is a long-term experiment that will take some time, and you will be protected while you complete your work. You have my word.”

          Julie suspected he was lying, but chose to smile and play along.  “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to accomplish with our first session?”

          Strange didn’t answer right away; busy making notes on a pad that Julie would have given anything to read.  “No,” he finally offered.  “I’ll leave that up to you.  Play it by ear, as they say, but you know what we’re looking for.”

          She nodded.  “Genuine emotional response.  Got it.”  Julie stood up, turning to walk out the door.  As she headed to the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.  It was unsettling to see herself, but not herself.  She reminded herself it was an improvement and headed back down the hall to her own office to prepare her notes.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backing up four months in this chapter...Hugo Strange gets his hands on the Joker's confidential file from Amanda Waller, full of things even Harley doesn't know yet. Meanwhile, the Joker and Harley are celebrating their second Christmas together and Harley makes a momentary decision that she may live to regret.

_Four months ago_

              Dr. Strange sat at his desk sipping a cup of perfectly hideous tea.  He couldn’t imagine why they couldn’t get something as simple as tea right in the Arkham’s cafeteria, but then again, he was often stunned at the endless ability of human beings to fail at the simplest tasks. 

              He supposed that was why these metahumans were so fascinating to him.  They had, each in their own way, evolved past the low standard humankind had been setting for years. 

              Take the Joker, for example.  This year, for the first time, Strange had finally been granted the security clearance he needed to view the Joker’s entire file – something ordinarily withheld from Arkham’s medical staff, who it was felt did not need to know his history in order to treat him.  They weren’t expected to cure him, in any event – they were expected only to go through the motions and try to keep the casualty rate down when he was a resident.

              Hugo Strange couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t a student of human nature and fascinated with how easily the human psyche could be manipulated.  At five, he’d entertained himself by subtly starting fights and dramas between his classmates.  All he had to do was tell Susie that he’d heard Laura saying she was ugly, and pretty soon there was a good fight to watch, complete with hair-pulling and spitting, in stark contrast to what his mother had taught him about how girls behaved.  It seemed they were sweet and nice until they were angry, and then they were capable of being as violent as any boy.  The boys were even better; it took very little to create an all-out turf war on the playground, one in which little Hugo never took part, but was always the first to report the melee to the increasingly frustrated teacher. 

              Hugo always stayed off to the side and watched as every child’s desire to get revenge overrode the logical fact that they knew they were not supposed to fight and would be punished for doing so.  From this, he deduced that emotion could override the desire to follow the rules and be good, and that most of this kind of volatile emotion came from offenses to the child’s self-image in one way or another.  Whether they admitted it or not, most children wanted to be popular, thought of as good looking, and loved.  Tweaking any of those things could create a volcanic explosion. 

              As he progressed through grade school (skipping a grade more than once, not only due to his test scores, but also due to the teachers’ desire to get his coldly logical, argumentative self out of their classroom), he continued to study others and refine his theories.  He learned to mimic appropriate emotions so that he could have friends, because friends were the most convenient of study subjects.  He learned to manipulate them more subtly and he learned that most people felt love when what they were actually experiencing was ego gratification, and that you could turn that into near-obsession by withholding and then feeding out that ego gratification.  As a result, he became far more popular than his geeky appearance and interests would normally merit. 

              Hugo never became any less enthralled with the human mind and how it could be programmed just like a computer, and it was not surprising when he obtained a full scholarship to an Ivy League school and became a doctor of psychiatry.  He could have gone anywhere with his grades, but Hugo understood himself as well as his subjects, and knew his great love was power.  The average citizen was easy to manipulate, but what if he could manipulate Gotham’s criminal element just as easily?

              What if he could manipulate the metahumans?  That was as close to God as any mortal could hope to come.   And so, here he was, director of Arkham Asylum, the perfect place to conduct any experiment that would bring him closer to his goals, without interference.  He had a limitless sea of absolutely expendable subjects, a healthy operating budget…everything but a decent cup of tea.  And as of last month, he finally had the Joker’s full, classified file as a result of doing a favor for one Amanda Waller, who needed her superior to be convinced that instead of reporting Waller for the liberties she had taken with classified information and the rules, it was a _much_ better idea to gas himself to death sitting in his SUV in the garage of his Georgetown home. 

              The file had been some of the most interesting reading of his life.  Hugo rarely felt respect for another human being, but he could not stop reading the tale of how Amanda Waller had extracted an angry little genius, the bullied son of two worse-than-useless parents, and channeled his natural desire to kill for her own purposes.  It was perfect brilliance; exactly the sort of thing he would done.  But Waller wasn’t quite his intellectual equal, and she had grown complacent.  She believed she could control the human weapon she had created, until the day she couldn’t, until the day a switch flipped and he began to use his skills, training and intellect to benefit no one but himself. 

              She should have seen it coming, but again, humans failed at the simplest of tasks.

              It was a wonderful story and it made perfect sense until a few years ago.  The Joker was a textbook sociopath; his capacity for emotional response had been broken at a very early age.  He wasn’t psychotic or delusional – he simply didn’t _care_.  If it amused him to kill, he would kill. If it put money in his pocket to kill, he would kill.  If he was bored and felt like it, he would kill.  He had no remorse – why would he?  No shred of empathy was installed in his psyche.  Psychiatrist after psychiatrist had tried to draw out some expression of regret or remorse, but as the old saying went, they were trying to get blood from a turnip and their attempts were silly, and so irritated the Joker that he generally just killed them.  They liked to say the Joker’s actions were random, but Strange sneered at that – they simply weren’t _smart_ enough to see the patterns he saw. 

              And then, as sometimes happened in science, there was an anomaly in what had, up until then, been a predictable subject.  The Joker, as pure of a narcissistic sociopath as a student of the mind could ever hope to encounter and be privileged enough to study in the flesh...fell _in love_.

              Not that that’s what they called it at first.  At first, the conventional wisdom was that Dr. Quinzel had simply been a means to an end.  It wasn’t unheard of for the Joker to use his good looks and his dark charm to convince women to do his bidding.  In fact, he had a known pattern of using lovestruck females as kamikaze operatives, sending them off to perform missions he knew they would never come back from.  They were ready to die for love and he was all too happy to oblige them.  Most involved expected Dr. Quinzel to meet the same destiny in short order but she hadn’t.  Somehow, she had seamlessly fit into his world, become both his romantic partner and his right hand operative, and he had repeatedly risked his own life to save hers.  Atypical behavior, to be sure, as odd given his psychiatric profile as a cat deciding to go for a swim. 

              It made no sense, and Strange knew he had to know the answer.  What was the secret to tapping into the long-dead heart of someone like the Joker?  If he could do that, he could control the Joker as, apparently, Dr. Quinzel had.  But even a genius like Dr. Hugo Strange had not come up with a way to see into the past.  In order to study this topic which had come to be an obsession for him, he would need to destroy the current relationship between the Joker and his former psychiatrist, in order to create a new one.

              Fortunately for him, in the world of relationships, he was a demolition expert.

* * *

              Harley was happily puttering around the penthouse, preparing it for the holidays.  The Joker thought of holidays as a perfect time to create havoc, one of the busiest times of the year for him, but Harley didn’t see why havoc couldn’t also include Christmas lights and a tree.  She had come from a home with one Jewish parent and one Christian parent so her holiday aesthetic was a mix of both; while she had fond memories of Hanukkah with her real father before he had passed away, she had always been attracted to the bling and glitz of the Christian celebration. It just wasn’t Christmas without sparkling garlands draped everywhere, shiny ornaments and candles burning with holiday scents like apple cinnamon. 

              The Joker rolled his eyes a lot, marginally unsettled at the feelings the Harley Quinn holiday celebration brought up in him.  He had never lived in a home that took holidays seriously, or family for the matter, and he liked to believe it was all foolishness.  While the good people of Gotham were decorating trees and buying presents, they were distracted, and that distraction provided many golden opportunities to commit any crime his heart desired.  Pulling off some job that put six or even seven figures into his offshore bank account…now _that_ was the true meaning of Christmas.  Not a bunch of off-key singing by people who’d had too much egg nog. 

              He had to give Harley credit though, she never lost her focus completely. If he said it was time to go to work, she dropped whatever she was doing and went to work.  She was nothing if not responsible and her perfectionist work ethic had carried over into her life of crime, something he greatly appreciated given how sloppy and just plain stupid his goons tended to be.   

              “Shit,” she mumbled from her perch on a step ladder near the window.

              “What’s wrong, pumpkin?”  He looked up from cleaning his gun on the kitchen table, one of his favorite tasks.  He couldn’t wait until Harley saw her new gun.  It was her main present this year, a work of absolute art, a Chiappa Rhino 60DS revolver with white grips inlaid with a gold Joker emblem, gold diamonds on the barrel shroud and engravings on the cylinder that said “love” and “hate.”  He knew she would love it; just one more shiny, glittery thing to add to her collection. 

              Harley sighed dramatically.  “I can _not_ get this garland to hang straight.  No matter what I do, the left side goes twisty on me.  I don’t think this window is actually level.”  She stepped down from the stool and stepped back, appraising her work.

              “Harls.  I don’t think House Beautiful is gonna get past the five guys with machine guns I have downstairs.  No one cares if your garland is crooked.”

              “ _I_ care!  Just because we’re the only ones looking at something, doesn’t mean it needs to look like shit.”

              He shrugged.  “You look hot, that’s all I look at.”   She did look hot, he thought.  She’d managed to pick up some sort of sexy Mrs. Claus get-up online and was currently attired in a short red dress with faux fur trim, a Santa hat, red fishnets and red lace-up knee-high boots.  If she kept wearing that around, he could _definitely_ get in the holiday spirit. 

              Harley turned around to look at him, trying to look irritated at his failure to commiserate with her decorating woes, but failing.  She wandered over to the glass wall that looked out over the city.  They had two places, but she wasn’t particularly fond of the windowless apartment at the club, and strongly preferred the penthouse, where she could at least look out at Gotham, if not walk the streets like a regular person.  Harley watched as, far below her, a kid chased another kid down the street and threw a snowball at the back of his head.

 _That’s some nice aim.  Maybe we should recruit him,_ she thought idly, and then realized how fucked-up it was for that to be her first thought.  Her old self still liked to make appearances, cutting into almost every part of her new life with reminders that she was not normal and ought to be more concerned about how not normal she had turned out to be. 

              Much to the ghost of Harleen Quinzel’s chagrin, Harley’s concern level could best be described as nonexistent.  Harley had been with the Joker for almost two years now and it had been…surprising.  On one hand, it was everything she knew she was signing on for when she pursued him after his escape from Arkham.  Flying bullets, unexpected explosions, always looking over her shoulder, never going out without a bodyguard and a disguise unless they were on a job and meant to be seen.  He expected her to use common sense, be alert and protect herself – but at the same time he never left her unprotected and she had learned not to be alarmed at the men who followed her, realizing who sent them. 

              That was the part she expected. The part she had not expected was a home life that, except for a sex life that would make a porn star blush, resembled a 1950’s sitcom.  The Joker was a traditionalist; while he had a maid to do the cleaning and laundry, he loved having Harley take charge of every detail of their domestic life in a way that would have made June Cleaver proud.  She organized his wardrobe, took his dry cleaning in, and cooked his favorite meals.  She was the in-house I.T. support; while the Joker was a genius at many things, he got easily frustrated with things like his smartphone and was apt to throw it at a wall if it refused to follow his orders.  She handled all the money, which surprised her at first – her former fiancée had been secretive and weird about letting her know just how much money he had, but the Joker was unconcerned.  Harley found that, despite thinking of herself as a modern woman and a feminist, she loved taking care of him and making his life easier in a million small ways.   

              He did not talk about his past.  She’d tried to revisit the topic with J after he rescued her from Roberto and she learned it wasn’t his first fall into the tanks at Ace Chemicals, but he quickly shut her down and made it clear he was not interested in discussing his past, and she didn’t need to be, either.  

              “I need to go to the hardware store and get more stuff to hang things up.  OK?  I’ll have Jose take me,” she suggested.  She preferred Jonny but Jonny was enjoying a rare vacation; he’d headed home for the holidays to see his elderly mother, who believed he sold insurance.  He _did_ , just not in the way dear old Mrs. Frost believed.

              “You’re wearing that to the hardware store?”

              “Are you kidding?  It’s perfect.  I can put a mask on and look like I’m on my way to a party.”  She saw the look on his face and switched to her sweetest, teasing tone of voice.  “I’m sorry, Daddy, is my skirt too short to wear out in public?”

              “Way too short,” he grumbled.  “But go. Just make sure you’re back in an hour.  4:00.  Pay attention to the time. We’ve got plans tonight.”

              “4 o’clock on the nose,” Harley assured him before disappearing into their bedroom to find a mask.

* * *

              They pulled up at the hardware store in one of the less conspicuous cars the Joker owned, a simple black Mercedes sedan.

              “Hey Harley?”   Jose turned around to look at her from the driver’s seat.  “I gotta favor to ask you.”

              She smiled.  She liked Jose, he was young but reliable and seemed to have real potential.  “Sure. Whatcha need?”

              “I know I’m supposed to stay with you but it’s my girl’s birthday and she lives right around the corner.  Can I go see her for 15 minutes?”

              “Of course you can!  I'll be a lot longer than that, take your time.  As long as you're back by 3:45, we're golden.  Mr. J is such a worried.” She rolled her eyes.

              Jose laughed.  “Yeah I get it.  I worry about my Adriana too, when I can’t be there with her.  Thanks Harley.”  He got out and opened her door for her and she got out, grinning from ear to ear when she realized it had started snowing again.  Jose waved to her, then looked both ways before darting across the street and disappearing down an alley.

              For a moment, she felt a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach… _you really shouldn’t lie to J, Harley, even when it’s minor.  You know he wouldn’t want Jose to leave._ But she shoved it down.  It was Christmas, and Jose had as much of a right as anybody else to be with the person he loved, if only for a few minutes.  She could take care of herself.   


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much angst. And violence. But just remember, in the grand timeline of _my_ Joker and Harley, this is early in the relationship. I'll be updating Encore for you soon, for you fluff lovers who prefer happily married J &HQ! :-) Hang in there, this one will be a wild ride but I think you'll find it interesting especially in terms of character development!

_Present day_

The Joker was just as she’d expected him to be, restrained in every possible way – straitjacket, hands cuffed to the arms of the steel chair which was bolted into the ground of the examination room.  Julie took her time, looking things over carefully from the other side of the glass, knowing she could see him but he could not see her.

Finally, Julie took a deep breath and entered.  He said nothing as she seated herself across the table, but his cold eyes watched her every move.  If he took note of her resemblance to Harley Quinn, and it was likely he did – the Joker was nothing if not observant and that fact was well documented – he did not betray that.  None of the markers were present – no twitch of the eye, no shift of the legs, no change in the tension of any body part.  If anything, he looked bored.

“You’re late,” he said.  _Mildly accusatory_ , she thought.

“I can’t be late,” Julie answered, just as cool as he.  “I’m the one in charge.”

He stared at her for a moment before laughing.  “Of what, do you think?”

She ignored the question.  “I’m Dr. Julie Landis and I won’t waste your time if you don’t waste mine,” she said, folding her hands in her lap to ensure they didn’t betray her anxiety.  She had studied the tapes of his sessions with Dr. Quinzel and she knew that Quinzel’s lack of fear was the first attractor.  Julie didn’t want him to know she’d seen those tapes, so she had be sure any mimicry was subtle.  

“I’m not wasting time at all.  Do you ever wonder who’s really in charge?  I mean…you report to Dr. Strange…he reports to Dr. Arkham…but who funds this place?  What’s  _really_  keeping the lights on?  Ever wonder about that, Julie?”  His tone was almost a whisper, encouraging her to lean forward and not miss a thing.  He was every bit as good as Julie had been warned.  She leaned slightly back in her chair, instead.

“You would have made a fine psychiatrist, Mr. Kerr.”

It was the one detail Strange had given her for today’s session that he told her she should expect a reaction to, and the information was accurate.  The Joker froze in his chair and Julie watched as the veins in his arms noticeably popped out.  She would not have been entirely surprised if her patient had exploded where he sat, based upon the amount of tension his body language was displaying.

She acknowledged the reaction, scribbling away on her notepad but never really taking her eyes off of him.  Julie watched as he forced himself back into a normal pose.  It was fascinating; she suspected he had the ability to control his own heartbeat by the way his body quickly transformed back into the relaxed state it had been in before she said his real name.  

Then he smiled at her.  A charming smile, the smile of the wolf who has decided to hide under a sheeps' pelt for now. Julie acknowledged it but still found that she was not totally unaffected by it.

“I’m good at everything I do, Julie.”  He uncurled his fingers and stretched them out, the muscles in his arms flexing, and for a moment she understood only too well how Dr. Quinzel had fallen down that rabbit hole.  

“Hopefully you’ll be good at answering my questions,” she responded and stood up, gathering her notes.  “I’ll see you again on Wednesday.”  

Julie swept from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, hoping he could not see the tremor in her knees.  She went straight to Dr. Strange’s office, where he had been watching on his monitor.

“Julie.  You did well, my dear.”

“You need to tell me more.  You just put me in a room with a patient who knows more about what’s going on here than I do!”  She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

“I’m recreating the conditions that worked so well in the previous…” he searched for an appropriate word “-scenario.  Dr. Quinzel didn’t know, either.”

“But I’m the one who has to be in there with him and don’t tell me he’s safely restrained.  The man has killed seven people when he was allegedly safely restrained.  What was he talking about, who’s keeping the lights on here?”

Dr. Strange just smiled and took a sip of his tea.  “For Wednesday, ask him if he feels bad about what happened to Lizzie.”  He turned back to his monitor, making it clear the conversation was over. 

Julie resisted the urge to throw her notebook at him.  She reminded herself she was here to pay off a bill, nothing more.  Indentured servitude, 21st century style, plain and simple.   _Just do your job,_ she told herself.   _The answers to these questions don’t really matter._

She could have gone home; it was the end of the day.  Instead she found herself standing outside the cell of the former Dr. Harleen Quinzel.  It was interesting how they’d given her such a nice space.  It looked almost like a normal small apartment with decent furniture, blankets, books and a video monitor.  Strange must have a reason for that – the man had a reason for everything.  Julie peered inside, knowing the glass was in one-sided mode and the woman inside couldn’t see her. 

Dr. Quinzel sat in the armchair, reading, a tiny figure in an orange jumpsuit, curled up in the chair like a cat.  She was focused intently on the book in her left hand, but playing with her blonde hair with her right hand, twisting and twirling it around a finger.   

Julie couldn’t look away. This was someone who had gone through all the same education she had…an intelligent woman who had excelled in school, someone who should have ended up running this place.  Only two years ago at this time, she would have been sitting in her office here, going over her case files before walking out of here a free woman.   _Only two years._   The thought upset Julie more than she expected.  Was Harley nothing more than the previous pawn of Arkham’s mysterious upper management?  Had she been thrown in with the Joker for reasons even she didn’t understand, part of someone else’s plan? Did they know there was a chance that she’d go off script and switch teams, becoming part of Joker’s criminal organization?

_Did Dr._ _Quinzel_ _do what she did because she saw_ _that the Joker was the less corrupt choice?_

That was a thought she didn’t need to have.  Didn’t want to have.  She was tired, stressed and overthinking things.  It was long past time to go home and fill her head with nothing more complicated than Netflix and wine.  

* * *

 

_Three months ago_

The Joker paced back and forth on the roof, watching the traffic below him, so far away that the cars looked like bugs, covered with snow.  He thought about simply stepping up to the ledge and then stepping out, into space, into oblivion.  No more thoughts.  No more odd feelings.  No more anything.

The fury he felt was indescribable.  He’d never been this angry at anyone or anything.  She’d played him for a fool.  How  _dare_  she?  She knew the consequences.  She’d seen often enough what happened to people who betrayed him.  She’d come home many nights with their blood all over her, decorating her body in a macabre pattern.  He remembered her laughter as he licked it off…

He spun around and kicked the ledge in frustration, the stabbing pain from his foot telling him that he’d probably broken a few toes.  The thought passed through his head that he was angriest at himself, but he discarded that quickly…it wasn’t his fault.  It was 100% all her fault,  _how could she, how could she, how could she_?

All he had to do was go back inside and shoot her.  Problem solved. The body would be gone in an hour.  Call Jonny and make sure Jose got taken out as well.  Clean up the mess, start over, fresh slate, fresh mind, sweep this  _fucking mess_  out of his sight and out of his head and be back to  _normal_.  Well, normal for him.  Just as he was three years ago.

_Problem solved._

He wasn’t one to let a problem slide.  Never had been.  If someone couldn’t obey orders, if someone couldn’t understand absolute loyalty, they were gone.  Like they never existed.  

But when he limped back inside, he realized it was going to take more than a second to wipe her out.  The whole place was full of her…dripping with her…her clothes, her knickknacks, her books, her music, her decorations, her shiny red toaster, her Keurig ( _nothing had been wrong with the old coffee pot, it had served him well for years, but she had to have something to make those ridiculous concoctions that were as blonde as she was and that in no way resembled coffee…_ ), her shoes, her jewelry ( _all of which he’d bought her_ ).  

It wasn’t even his home anymore.  She had seeped into every part of it.  

And he had let her.  Like the worst kind of fool, like the kind of fool he himself would mock.  He had learned a long time ago, you couldn't trust anybody.  They always said he was crazy, but this was the first time he thought maybe he really  _had_ been.  

 _Fixing that now._  

He felt like the walls were closing in.  The entire place  _smelled_ like her.  

"Boss?"  He turned and saw Jose, standing there with that dumb thug look on his face,  _like always._ "Whatcha want me to work on for tonight?"

* * *

 

Harley was having a blast decorating away in the bedroom.  She knew there was no such thing as too much bling, and Christmas was the perfect time of year to show that off, so she was currently hanging twinkling lights all around the top edge of their bedroom walls.  Sure, she'd only meant to get some wires and hooks and stuff but hey, who had any self-control at a hardware store during the holidays?  There were just so many things that looked like they could be fun to play with that she'd blown a couple hundred dollars in fifteen minutes flat.  

_Ah well, as Mr. J was always saying, money is no object, we'll just steal more!_

She almost fell off the stepladder when she heard a gunshot come from the living room.  Sure that someone had broken into their apartment, Harley grabbed her own gun and tore out to the living room, ready to do battle, only to see it was the Joker standing there with a smoking gun. He'd shot Jose in the middle of the forehead and the young man lay there bleeding on the floor, already dead.  

"Puddin', what the hell!" she exclaimed, startled and not understanding.  It wasn't that unusual for the Joker to kill a henchman who displeased him, but Jose had been a star, nearly as good as Jonny, just lacking as much experience.  It was only when her boyfriend came toward her that she saw the murderous look on his face.  Harley had seen it many times, but never turned on her before.  She stood her ground.  The Joker hated wimps.  

"That's  _my_ question for you,  _Harley,_ " he hissed, walking slowly toward her.  "You _bored_ already?  Believe me, I can make your life a  _lot_ more interesting."  He gave her a hard shove and she staggered back into the door she had just closed.  He grabbed her wrist and forced that hand above her head and slammed it into the door, holding her fast with the gun still in her grip, the barrel pointing toward the ceiling.   A second later, he had a knife to her throat with the other hand.  Harley knew the knife; ironically, it was one she had given him as a gift.  She felt as though if she took a deep breath, it would slit her throat like butter, so she stood absolutely motionless, her eyes wide.

"Puddin', I don't know what you're talking about."  She tried to keep her voice calm and slow.

"Oh, I think you  _do_."  His eyes were wild, the eyes of a madman, but Harley knew he was nothing if not sane and calculating, and that scared her worse.   _He's decided to kill me, and I don't even know why!_   She had to think but she didn't know if she would have time to think.  

 _He had her followed this afternoon and knew she disobeyed his orders_ _._ That was the only explanation.  But he couldn't be  _this_ mad about her letting Jose take a break...could he?  She had to buy time.  Harley felt the sting of the knife and the nauseating feeling of blood dripping down her neck, but it wasn't that much. He hadn't really cut her...yet. 

"You want answers, well, if ya kill me, you're never gonna know 'em." she argued, slipping unconsciously into her Brooklyn accent.  

"Wrong," he growled.  "I  _want_ revenge.  You're the one who wanted to do all of this decorating for Christmas.   _Red_ is a nice, cheerful color, isn't it, Harley?  We can paint your blood all over this place.  Liven up those white walls."  He was so angry he was spitting as he berated her, and despite herself, she started to get angry too.  

"You at least gonna tell me what I did?  Or you more scared of talking ta me than killin' me?"

"Considering I haven't been  _dropped on my fucking head_  recently, let's see if we can work this out together," he raged at her, the hand on her shoulder clutching it so hard she knew she would have five bruises in the shape of his fingers.  "There's a black diamond that won't be fucking  _there_ when I go to get it tonight, because the Gotham News Network just reported it's  _already been stolen_.  Do you know why, Harley?  Because someone who had the security code scrambler that I spent the last goddamn month working on, that magically disappeared from my office this afternoon, handed it off to  _Oswald Fucking_ _Cobblepot_ _."_

"I didn't-"

"No," he spat.  " _You_ didn't.  You just created a convenient distraction for your boyfriend there, while he did it."  He jerked his chin at the body on the floor and suddenly Harley understood.

" _Boyfriend_ _?_ Puddin', that's ridiculous."  She was horrified, more upset at the accusation that she would ever cheat than she was at the knife a millimeter from her jugular.   _How could he even think that?_   

"I'm not stupid, Harley.  You two went to the store, but he didn't stay there, did he? How long have you two been planning this little  _job_?  Where were you planning to go with the money?  Belize?  Argentina?  Tibet?  I would have found you," he snarled.

"Puddin', I – he – he told me he wanted to see his girlfriend for a few minutes. On her birthday.  I didn't know anything about Cobblepot or your scrambler or-"

He slammed her own hand with her gun in it into the side of her head and she cried out and burst into tears, which just made him roll his eyes.  

“What’s that coming out of your mouth?”  He dropped the knife and put his hand to his ear.  “Oh!  More lies.  You’ve got an  _endless_  supply of them, don’t you?”

“I’m not lying. I would never! I don't – I don't know what I can say to prove it -“  Harley broke off.  She was starting to panic, more scared at his words than she had been about a knife at her throat.

 _He hates me, he hates me, he hates me..._  

“Having a hard time coming up with your lies on the fly?   Tsk…what a disappointment. With your long history of lying, I’d think you’d be  _better_ at it by now.”

Her eyes were hot, her throat so constricted it was hard to force out the words.   _This can’t be happening._

“J…you have to listen to me. I didn’t betray you.  I would never-“

“Never what?”  His voice was icy and his eyes empty and flat.  “Never lie to me?  But lying comes  _so easy_  to you, Harls.  Remember fucking me with your fiance’s ring on your hand?”

She swallowed hard.  “I never loved him. You knew that.  I’ve never loved anyone but you.”  Harley steeled herself against the hit that she expected but it didn’t come. Instead he  _recoiled_ from her and stepped back as though she had a contagious disease, a look of disgust on his face.  

“ _Leave_.”

Harley fell to her knees in front of him, shaking her head.  “I won’t leave.  I didn’t  _do anything!_ Kill me if you want, I’d rather be dead than be without you!”  She was sobbing uncontrollably now, and through her tears she saw him roll his eyes and turn away, pulling out his phone.

"Jonny," he said into it.  "Come to the penthouse in an hour. If Harley is still here, kill her and throw her in the river."

There was a pause and Harley knew Jonny was trying to calm down the Joker, without getting shot himself.  She prayed it would work.  The Joker stared at her, unblinking, as he gave his orders.

"Do I sound like I'm fucking kidding?  And weigh her down good if you do it.  I don't want to see her face again, not even as a  _bloated corpse_.  Bring the guys, clean up this place too, there's already one body here and I don't want it stinking up the place."

She had never felt such absolute despair.  He couldn’t leave, she couldn’t live without him, but he was walking away, his back to her, his dark form shimmering through the tears in her eyes.

The Joker grabbed his overcoat and threw open the door but it was blocked by an imposing, dark figure that filled the entire entrance.

“Ready to go back to Arkham, Joker? I heard your plans for tonight hit a snag.” Batman stood in the doorway with his hands near his belt, ready for a fight, but looking over J’s shoulder to where Harley knelt on the floor.  He watched as she collapsed into a heap, hugging her knees to her chest and crying inconsolably.  

The Joker noticed how distracted the Bat was at the sight of the crying woman and took the opportunity to throw his coat over his nemesis’ head and bolt for the glass wall of the penthouse, crashing through it without hesitation. Batman angrily yanked the coat off and ran after him but the cackling was already fading. He stuck his head out the window and saw the clown had rappelled down the side of the building…but the GCPD was right there waiting for him.  Six officers leapt on him as he landed and he was tasered and thrown into the back of the SWAT team’s van as Batman watched.

He turned back to the figure on the floor.  She had made no move to fight back or escape but stayed curled on the floor in a fetal position.  “Dr. Quinzel. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you in as well.”  His voice was kind and she knew he felt pity for her. It made her want to shoot him, but she didn’t move or respond.  If she kept her eyes closed, if she didn’t say a word, maybe it would all be a horrible nightmare and she would wake up, warm in her bed, with the Joker’s muscular arms wrapped around her, holding her tight even in his sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Julie, who is keeping the lights on? The Joker starts to lay out a trail of breadcrumbs for Dr. Landis to follow. Meanwhile, Dr. Strange goes to his least favorite kind of business meeting, and Harley has a visitor that brings her a ray of hope.

_Present day_

The Joker leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out under the table. “You know, Julie, you don’t really seem like the _type_ to work here.  What am I missing?”

“It’s Dr. Landis.  What type do I seem like?  I’d be fascinated to hear your psychological analysis of my character,” she muttered.  She was in a vile mood, having just come from a meeting with Dr. Strange in which they argued over her refusal to wear stilettos and miniskirts and ramp up the Harleen Quinzel impersonation. 

“Not a sociopath, which is unusual for around here.”

She tilted her head, confused, and reminded herself she had to pay attention.  “You think the _staff_ are sociopaths?”

The Joker cackled loudly.  “I don’t think that, I know that.  You’ve heard of gaydar?  I’ve got cray-dar!”  Julie pressed her lips together hard, trying not to smile.   “This place is full of guards that enjoy watching people bleed and the sound of bones breaking.  I could hire any of them away from Arkham and they’d do my bidding.  And I pay better!”

 _He’s not wrong,_ Julie thought.  Quite honestly there were a number of guards that creeped her out.  She didn’t like how they treated the patients, and she liked even less the way they looked at her. 

“You know how they salivate over ECT around here.  Frying _my_ brain is their favorite hobby.  If you get off on that, shooting and stabbing is just a little…messier.”

She cringed but tried not to let it show on her face.  The fact that they still used electroconvulsive therapy, without the patient’s consent, was one of the things that made her most uncomfortable about Arkham Asylum.  She’d learned from one of the nurses that Dr. Quinzel had objected to it as well when she was still practicing here.  It continued to nag at her that the two of them might have more in common than their appearance.  She had been told Quinzel was beyond insane; a psychopathic murderer with no ability to control her own actions – but the more she learned about her, the more that characterization simply didn’t fit. 

“Let’s just say that Dr. Strange and I have somewhat different viewpoints when it comes to the best course of treatment,” Julie said, trying to be diplomatic.  Predictably, the Joker laughed at that.

“I’m surprised it doesn’t _bother_ you to work for the Josef Mengele of our time.”  He watched her flinch with satisfaction.  “Heard he got bored with ECT and has brought back lobotomies.”

“That isn’t true,” Julie snapped back, with some conviction.  “You might consider that a lot of rumors here come from people who can’t have a bar of soap in the shower because they’ll _eat_ it.” 

“Suit yourself, doctor,” the Joker replied, managing to shrug idly even with a straitjacket on.  “But ask yourself what happened to Mack Romano.  Or better yet – ask to see him.” 

 “Nothing happened to him.  He was transferred to Blackgate.”  Mack Romano had been one of her previous patients, a mafioso who looked like a linebacker but, inside, was still an abused child seeking approval from the adults – or in his case, Don Sabatino.  Julie had felt she was making real progress with him. He was starting to talk about his childhood, and the horrors that had been inflicted upon him. And then, he was gone. 

The Joker nodded.  “Whatever ya wanna believe, doctor.  Far be it for me to interfere with your illusions.”

Julie sighed.  “Do you think we can begin your session now?”

“But I was having so much fun with _yours_!”

* * *

 

The bag was removed from his head, leaving Dr. Strange blinking at the sudden return of the light.  How he hated these meetings…she wouldn’t come to him, but she wouldn’t let him come to her with any measure of decent and respectful treatment, either.  Every time, her operatives showed up at his door and forced him into a straitjacket just like the most lunatic of his patients.  Then they kidnapped him, covering his head so that he didn’t have a clue where he was being taken.  He knew by now it was her, yet he felt terror every time.  _Exactly as she intended,_ he thought.  _Reminding me of my place._

Hugo kept his composure, standing quietly with his hands folded in front of him until the door opened and he was beckoned into her office, a harshly lit expanse of black glass and high definition computer monitors.

“Amanda, delightful to see you, as always.”

She didn’t bother to rise from the desk; just waved a hand at a chair.  He sat, attempting to feign a posture of relaxation that was foreign to him.  She saw through it and smiled. 

“Hugo, how have you been?”

It was a charged question; he knew by now that Amanda Waller didn’t make small talk.  She was asking him what he had been doing and how it would benefit her.

“Busy.  You received the latest results of the sensory deprivation studies?”

She nodded.  “They’re interesting.  But I’m more interested to hear how you’re coming along with the Joker and Harley Quinn.”

 _It never fails that she goes to the toughest question first,_ he thought.  “Dr. Landis is making progress with the Joker.  He most definitely has an emotional response to her.”

“Strong enough to control him?”

“It has only been a few weeks.  These things take time, even with neurotypical humans.”

Waller sniffed disparagingly.  “He’s an emotional wreck; it shouldn’t take long.  We pulled the rug out from under him and it was a hard fall.”  Her pleasure was evident and Strange wondered, as always, why she had such a need to control this particular criminal.  He hadn’t decided if there was a vendetta there that Waller wasn’t sharing, or if it was an attraction.  Her interest bordered on obsession.  Hugo knew her goal well, but it seemed there were metahumans with more useful talents that she should be more focused on.

Like Batman, for instance. But she hadn’t _ever_ said a peep about him.  Very odd.  He filed that thought away for further reflection.

“And Harley Quinn?”

“She sees no one but me.  I bring her meals. I bring her books. I’ve started bringing her small gifts. I show her evidence that the Joker hates her, regularly.  I’m building dependence.  She’s a submissive personality and needs someone to serve.  When I am that person, she will do whatever I ask.”

“That’s not what I see, Hugo,” Waller said.  “You forget I watch the tapes.  She’s getting her emotions under control and shutting you out.   You need to do something to move things along.”

He was inwardly fuming – how dare she question his methods?  What medical school had _she_ attended?  But he knew better than to show it.  There was no sense at this point ending up just another body in the river.  

“Of course,” he responded obediently. 

“There’s a job she’d be perfect for, but it deploys in April, so you don’t have much time. Please don’t disappoint me, Hugo.” 

“Miss Quinn will be ready.  If you were to share the details of the mission and what will be required with me, it would assist me greatly.”

She smiled, a kind smile that he knew was pure theater.   “I’m sure it would.  I look forward to our next meeting.”

He startled as the bag dropped over his head again, and he was pulled to his feet.  He hadn’t even heard them come up behind him, and through the thick fabric, he heard the low sound of her laughter. 

* * *

 

Julie tossed and turned in her bed. With as much wine as she’d had with dinner, she should have been zonked out but she kept thinking about what the Joker had said about Mack Romano.  She sighed and stared at the ceiling, running a hand through her hair.

_Better yet – ask to see him._

It wasn’t like she couldn’t drop by Blackgate.  Her Arkham ID would get her into any institution in the system without a second glance.  She’d just get up a little earlier in the morning, stop by on her way to work and visit Mr. Romano.  Put her mind at rest that everything the Joker said was just another mind game.  It  _was_ his area of expertise.  

The decision should have put her mind at rest, but she laid staring at the ceiling for the next two hours, unable to stop thinking about the things the Joker had said, and then promptly fell asleep, right into a nightmare in which _she_ was the doctor trapped in the glass box inside the asylum…screaming and screaming that she wasn’t crazy, a nightmare she couldn’t pull herself out of until the annoyed yowl of her cat woke her. 

Julie fought her way back to consciousness and stared at the clock, which said 5:12 a.m.  She was in a cold sweat with the blanket thrown to the floor and the sheets twisted around her legs.  Miranda stood on the floor next to the bed, where she’d obviously pushed her, and yowled at her in complaint. 

“Sorry, kitty.”  Julie sat up and straightened the sheets, leaning over to pull the blanket back up to the bed.  She patted the space beside her and the cat reappeared, still looking at her suspiciously.  “Momma’s sorry she’s losing her shit.” 

She closed her eyes again and drew the covers up over her head.  Maybe she could get a little more sleep before her early morning run to the jail. 

* * *

 

Harley was awake, as usual.  It was hard for her to sleep at all, despite the unusually comfortable cell they’d given her.  Her mind was always going a million miles an hour lately.

_Problem number one:  You’re in here and they don’t let you see anyone else._

_Problem number two:  J is in here too and hates you and now they’re trying to manipulate him with some other pretty little thing of a psychiatrist._

_Problem number three:  You have no idea what they plan to do with you._

It was weird that she wasn’t receiving any therapy.  She’d actually been looking forward to it; most of the doctors here except for Hugo and the new girl were her ex-colleagues, people she knew well and felt confident she could manipulate if only she had the opportunity.  But no such opportunity presented itself; they were merely warehousing her.  They fed her, they messed with her head showing her video of the Joker, but they didn’t seem to be putting up any pretense of treating her.

Unless the treatment _was_ the isolation, which could make sense. She saw no one but Strange. Was he trying to get her to bond to him? She snickered softly at the thought. That was going to happen on the 6th of Never.  Harley found him as repulsive an individual as she’d ever come into contact with.  He looked at humans as no more than lab rats; that much was evident.  He just creeped her out, and that was saying something when you lived with a mass murderer!  She wondered what had become of Dr. Arkham himself; it was obvious that the aptly-named Strange was in charge these days. 

Harley heard a sound in the hallways and looked over without moving.  Someone was standing by her cell.  She squinted, trying to discern the outline in the dim early morning light, and finally recognized a familiar face.

“Nora?” she stage-whispered, slipping from the bed.  The figure moved back as if to leave.

“No, please, please don’t leave me,” Harley begged softly.  “Nora, I know that’s you.”

The nurse’s voice came back out of the shadows.  “We’re not supposed to talk to you, Dr. Quinzel.”

Harley’s heart leapt at the words.  Not only was it a nurse who had really liked her, but the way she addressed her, it was obvious she still respected her.  She cautioned herself to keep her voice down; it might be early but Strange kept weird hours.   “I know. I know what he’s trying to do, he’s isolating me, giving me no one to connect with except himself. Nora, please listen to me. I’m not crazy. I need your help.”

“I know you’re not crazy,” Nora whispered.  “Strange is – there’s a lot of weird stuff going on here. Patients disappearing. I think Strange knows where they go. I don’t want you to disappear.”  Her concern was evident in her voice and Harley almost started crying at the thought that she wasn’t totally forgotten, that someone knew she was here and didn’t want anything worse to happen to her. 

“I just need you to give a message to someone on the outside. Can you do that for me?”  Harley begged, her blue eyes wide.  “Just one time and I’ll never ask again.”

Nora hesitated a moment and then nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julie has information, but no answers. She's going to have to take bigger risks to find them out for herself. Meanwhile, Strange comes up with a new form of torture for Harley.

          The first thing that Julie did when she walked into the session was take her chewing gum out of her mouth and place it on a small silver knob on the wall.  The Joker looked at her, puzzled.

          “Redecorating?” he asked. “Can’t say it isn’t an improvement.  It’s the only color in here,” he observed accurately, looking at the hot pink glob.

          Julie took her seat at the table, neatly arranging her notebook and pens in front of her as she always did and looked up.  “I’m bored with the small talk and I suspect you know Dr. Strange listens in.  Today, he can’t.  Now maybe we can talk about something other than how terrible the food is in here?”

          “What would you like to talk about?  Organic chemistry, federal law, the ten best movies of 1942…try me, doctor, I’m quite the Renaissance man!”  he responded cheerfully.

          “Mack Romano isn’t at Blackgate.”

          “Coulda told you that and saved you a trip.”

          “You know more about what’s going on here than I do. How does that work?”

          He shrugged. “I don’t know, doctor. I think I’m just an _excellent_ listener.”

          “Or you have a lot more ears than the ones I see on your head.”

          “Put one of yours to the ground, you might find your missing patient.  As well as a few others that have made _precipitous_ departures from this fine facility.”

          She stared at him, frustrated.  “If you think I’m going to start seeing you all as victims and help you escape-“

          “I don’t need your help.”  He started laughing.  “Have you ever reviewed my records to see how long I’ve been imprisoned at a stretch?”

          Julie said nothing. They both knew the answer.

          “If this place is so easy to leave, why haven’t you this time?  What’s the plan?”

          “Do I really look like a guy with a plan?” The Joker looked at her as though she were the crazy one and rolled his eyes. “You know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it! You know, I just... _do_ things.”

          Julie surprised him by letting out a snort and rolling her eyes just as dramatically.  “Oh please.  You know what I do for fun around here?  I decode the conversations you have with your friend Jonny when he comes by.”  She grinned at him as his smile faded.  “Walk the dogs means pick up a shipment of guns.  Bus fare is protection money.  Every time you ask him about the family, you mean other crime lords.  Falcone is Uncle Fred. I haven’t figured out who Aunt Emma is yet, but I will.  You always have a plan. Your plans have plans. You just like to keep as many people as possible in the dark because it reduces the odds of a leak and someone foiling your plans.”

          The Joker wasn’t smiling now and Julie couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph.  _Ha.  Wiped the smirk off his face, for once._

          “And have you _shared_ all this knowledge you’ve acquired with your _superiors_?” he asked quietly. 

          “If I told you yes, I imagine I’d be dead before morning,” Julie observed, doodling away on her notepad and not looking at him.  She could feel him seething across the table from her and she let him, for a good ten seconds before she bothered to look up.  “No.  As I said, it’s purely for my own entertainment.”

          The Joker relaxed and the smile returned to his face.  “The women they hire around here are always smarter than the men.  You sure you want to waste your life in a nuthouse dealing with freaks?  I think we should talk about your job prospects.”

          “Says the man in the straitjacket.  I’m doing fine and have no desire to be the next Harley Quinn.” 

          She knew her light remark would get a reaction, and it did. 

          “Don’t talk about her!” the Joker snarled, and Julie wasn’t sure if he was angry at the reminder she existed or angry that Julie was disparaging her. 

          “I think you’re still here because you can’t face the thought of going home to your empty house,” she mused. 

          Julie watched through her lashes, still writing, as his entire body tensed.  She could hear his teeth grind together and knew she’d struck a nerve.   She kept writing and waited for him to get himself back under control, which he did, with some difficulty.  Finally, he spoke, sounding like he didn’t have a care in the world.

          “Which _one_ , doctor?  I have several. Whereas you are still living in the Narrows, the last I checked. That student loan debt is a _killer_ , isn’t it?”  He grinned at her, but this time it had a hard edge that left no doubt of his intentions.  A cold chill went down her spine and she steeled herself, refusing to react in a way that he could read. 

 _Just when I start to feel compassion for him, he reminds me how quickly he’d slit my throat,_ she thought.    

* * *

          Harley sat on her bed, watching the video of Dr. Landis’ session with the Joker.  There was no sound, but she could watch the body language and a few times she thought she could pick up was being said.  The video had been playing on repeat since just after breakfast and she had given herself a headache squinting at it, trying to decipher what was being said. 

          She knew _him_ well enough to see that he was cycling through his entire range of extreme, if limited, emotions in the session.  He started out amused and that unsettled her; clearly he found this Dr. Landis entertaining and the thought was like a knife in her heart.  She wasn’t stupid; Lexi had filled her in pretty thoroughly on the Joker’s history before her and he had never been a man who deprived himself of female companionship, though never the same one for long.  Dr. Strange no doubt knew that as well, and he hadn’t picked this girl for her psych skills.

 _Stop being such a bitch. You didn’t like it when people thought you were too cute to be a doctor,_ Harleen reminded her. 

 _If she touches him, I’ll kill her,_ responded Harley.  _I’ll cut her fucking throat._

          She watched, intently, as the session proceeded.  This doctor was too interested in what he had to say. Far beyond what Harley considered professional. Why was she _smiling_ at him?   _I’ll teach her to smile_. 

          And then she’d said something that made him mad.  _Really_ mad.  What Harley wouldn’t have given to know what that had been.  He got mad and then he got icy cold and still, the way he did when he was thinking about ways to kill you. 

          Harley was so intent on analyzing the footage that she didn’t hear Strange approaching until he was unlocking her cell.  She jumped, startled. He never actually came _in_.  There were two burly guards standing at the door and she weighed for a second whether or not she could take all three. 

          “No need to get up,” he said, casually withdrawing his hand from his pocket and showing her that he had a taser. “I thought we could have a nicer conversation without the bars between us.”

          Harley sniffed. “You make it sound like we’re at a garden party and the tea and crumpets will be arriving shortly.”

          Strange laughed, an eerie sound coming from him.  “Well, well.  You’re in a better mood, or should I say, a different mood. Sarcasm is a nice change from the unbridled fury and death threats I’ve grown used to.”

 _Play nice with him. You won’t find out a thing if you just keep threatening his life,_ Harleen suggested, and for once Harley appreciated the calming influence of her old self.  She forced a smile and let her accent come out. 

          “Thank you for the video, but it’s gettin’ a little…tedious. If I’m _really_ good, you think I could get something with sound? This mausoleum got cable?” 

          Strange sat down in the armchair and gave her a skeptical look.  “Dr. Quinzel, do you really think that will work on me?”

          “Whatcha talking about? I was just wonderin’ if I could get something else to watch. The free stuff is fine, ya know.  I Love Lucy, maybe some Gilligan’s Island?”  She batted her eyelashes at him, secretly entertained by his poorly hidden frustration with her.

          “I came here to have a chat with you about a way that you can get out of here, but if you’re not interested, I’ll leave.”  Strange started to get up and she jumped to her feet, unable to control herself.

          “Sit down.  I’m _interested_!”  Harley took a breath.  “Sir.”   _I’m going to choke on that, but what is he talking about?_

          Predictably, Strange smiled and sat back down.  “A friend of mine, in the government, has a mission that would be perfect for someone with your assortment of skills…and attributes.”

          Harley blinked.  “What, now I’m a spy?”

          “Or you continue to be an inmate. Your choice of course,” he added in a tone that made it clear no choice would be on the table.  He was wearing glasses and Harley contemplated the odds that she could get them off his face and stab him in the eye with an arm before he could taser her.  Satisfying though that might be, it didn’t make sense.  If Nora had gotten her message to Selina, she’d be getting out of here soon enough.  She could play along for now.

          “Anything’s better than being in here,” she answered.

          “I was hoping you’d say that.  You’ll be leaving in a week.”

          “What do I have to do?”

          “Nothing you haven’t done before,” he answered.  _Talk about an unsettling choice of words,_ Harley thought.  _Doesn’t matter, I won’t be doing it anyway._

          She shrugged.  “I like an adventure. I’m game."

          “Excellent.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to a funeral.”  He stood up. 

_Unfortunately not your own, although I hope to be the one to necessitate that._

          “Oh, I’m sorry,” Harley said sweetly, feigning sympathy.  “Who died?”

          Strange closed the cell behind him and answered her through the window.  “One of our nurses. She was in a bad part of town, nowhere _near_ her home.  Very odd.” 

          They locked eyes for a moment before his eyes narrowed _just that tiny bit_ and Harley knew.  Knew what had happened as surely as if she’d been the one wielding the gun, or the knife, or whatever had happened to poor Nora.  She felt her cheek twitch, and knew he saw it too, before he turned and walked away.  

          Harley stood motionless until she could no longer hear his footsteps before she walked slowly over to her armchair and curled herself up in it.  Across from her, the video played on.  It would not stop for the next three days, until she had almost driven herself insane between trying to discern the words and thinking about all the many ways that Nora might have died. 

* * *

          Julie reached her office and closed the door behind her, grateful for the peace within.  She opened up the lowest desk drawer and pulled out the bulky cardigan she kept there for days when the asylum was even colder and damper than usual, carefully extricating her secret emergency bottle of wine.   She opened the bottle carefully and filled her coffee cup, gulping down half of it in a very unladylike way and topping it off again.  She rolled her shoulders, waiting for the wine to kick in and ease her tension.

The session with the Joker had drained her completely.  In the three weeks she’d been treating him, Julie learned that an hour with him was like running a race.  It was mentally and emotionally exhausting and reminded her of studying for her boards, an experience she hadn’t been in the mood to relive.  Worse yet, she couldn’t get back to her office afterward without walking past Dr. Quinzel’s cell, and that made her sad every time.

_How did she live with that man, have a relationship with him?  For years?  It would be like playing Jeopardy every moment you were awake, and the wrong answer might get you killed._

          She refused to think of Dr. Quinzel as Harley Quinn.  That was a character, a persona, and it wasn’t the woman in that cell.  Julie had read the entire file, which Strange didn’t know, but it wasn’t hard to get anything she wanted from the records clerk, a young man who had a major crush on her.  She knew that Harleen was raised in Brooklyn, lost her father at a young age, had high school records that didn’t check out one bit, and then a stellar record in college and medical school.  She’d never been in any trouble, no history of drug or alcohol abuse, absolutely no sign of mental instability or emotional issues.  Her H.R. file at Arkham showed good reviews, right up until the day when she helped the Joker break Catwoman out of Arkham and shot a guard without hesitation.  None of it made any sense, and it frustrated her. 

          Julie wanted to talk to her directly, really wanted to treat her herself,  but Strange refused to allow it.  He had Quinzel completely isolated and he was the only one she saw.  He wanted to see if he could invoke a Stockholm Syndrome response in her, which Julie thought was idiotic.  First of all, Quinzel hadn’t ever _had_ Stockholm Syndrome; she’d gone with the Joker quite willingly, with no sign that any force was used.  Second, ugh, it was obvious what Strange thought was in that for him.  _Research, my ass_ , thought Julie. 

          Most of the inmates here were mass murderers; it was easy to think they were getting the punishment they rightfully earned, even if it was extreme at times and teetering on illegal.  And true, she knew that Quinzel had killed her share at this point – but she still had to walk by that cell and see a woman with a Ph.d reading literature.  She couldn’t help but believe the woman belonged in a real hospital, and that she could be restored to sanity.  Julie wasn’t even sure she was mentally ill in the first place – love made you do stupid things.  She’d gone out with a real loser herself in college, who smoked weed all day and borrowed money from her that he never paid back.  Now, perhaps that wasn’t _quite_ the same as hooking up with a mass murderer known to enjoy creative forms of torture, but still, bad taste in men wasn’t necessarily proof of a mental disorder. 

          Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.  Julie opened the desk drawer and neatly stashed away her un-coffee cup.  “Come in!” she called.  The door opened to reveal Dr. Strange.  That was a surprise – he generally summoned her to him.  She couldn’t think of a time he’d ever been in her office.

          “Dr. Strange.  I didn’t realize you were still here.”

          “I was on my way out, but I didn’t want to leave without stopping by to tell you how pleased I am with your work.”  He looked pleased, which Julie realized was not a look she was used to seeing on him.  “I stopped by the Joker’s cell.  He asked me about you.”

          Julie regarded him suspiciously.  “What did you tell him?”

          Strange settled himself into one of the chairs opposite Julie, dashing her hopes that this would be a short conversation.

          “I believe the first question is, what did he _ask_ me?”

          She said nothing, aware she had erred in showing her nerves and fervently wishing he had come in to talk to her after she got more than a half-cup into the wine. 

          “He asked me if you were married or had a boyfriend.  I wasn’t convinced you were taking the correct approach before. You seemed unduly _abrasive_ to me.  But it seems to have worked brilliantly on him.”

          Julie sighed.  “It wasn’t –“   She stopped short.  She had been about to tell him that she thought the question was designed to determine if she had any vulnerabilities he could attack. _There was nothing he’d like better than someone I loved that he could threaten.  But let Strange believe what he wants to believe.  He’s practically salivating._ “Um – well, he does try to get me to talk about myself.”

          “Exactly what he did with Quinzel.  You seem to have the same effect on him.”

          “What’s the end game?  You’ve never really told me,” she pointed out.

          Strange stood up.  “All in good time.  Good night.”

 _Well, that ended the conversation quickly,_ she thought, making a mental note to remember how to rid herself of her creepy boss in record time.  She felt confident that he was wrong.  Yes, the Joker enjoyed her company, but it was clear he wasn’t even close to getting over Dr. Quinzel.  _There’s a fine line between love and hate and those two are the poster children_.  It was so obvious by the way that the Joker couldn't even stand to hear her name.  _Psych 101._

          Julie opened the drawer and extracted her wine as well as a legal pad.  In neat cursive, she wrote _put your ear to the ground_.  That’s what the Joker had said about the missing patients.  But what did it mean?  She doodled scrolls around it, considering.  Who should she be listening to?  In what way was she not paying close enough attention?

          Suddenly, it occurred to her that Arkham had lower levels.  The elevators didn’t go there anymore – you had to have a key to access those floors, and everyone was told they were just overflow file storage areas.  _Could it be that literal, that simple?  Is the answer down there?_ Maybe there were classified files she wasn’t shown that would reveal where Mack Romano and the other missing patients had been transferred to.

          She bit her lip.  She needed to see for herself, and this was going to be more complicated than stopping by Blackgate on her way to work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry, sorry, sorry. Too much going on and too many projects at once and on top of everything, did you know you can accidentally delete stuff on your One Drive from your computer's file manager without ever logging on to it? YOU CAN. *shudders* 
> 
> ANYWAY: Harley ponders her next move, and Julie continues her investigation and gets a horrifying wake-up call about Arkham Asylum and her boss. This chapter should have some trigger warnings in terms of violent, creepy content. If you're a Gotham viewer I went along with their general idea of the kind of stuff Dr. Strange gets up to. But that was creepy af and I apologize in advance if this gives anybody nightmares. It's where the story was going and it had to be done.

               Harley was pacing in her cell.

               She normally tried to hide any sign of anxiety from Strange and the staff, but tonight she felt like she couldn’t think without moving.  How could she find out what Strange had in mind for her?  Leaving Arkham sounded great. Unless they took her out of here unconscious, just transporting her was going to provide a wide assortment of opportunities to escape.  Guards always underestimated her. They were easy to distract, and even easier to beat in a fight.  If they tried to take her out of here in a van or get her on a helicopter, she was pretty sure she could get away.

               _But then what?_

               She was more than a little worried that she hadn’t heard from Selina.  Not that her friend could have exactly walked through the doors on visiting day, but Harley had broken _her_ out of here once and she expected the same.  Breaking and entering was Selina’s forte after all.  So where was she?  Harley guessed Nora had never made it that far with her message.  Or – Selina hadn’t been there, which was a frightening thought.  She had no idea what was going on in the outside world.  Maybe Selina wasn’t even in Gotham anymore, and if she wasn’t, where would Harley go if she did get away?   She had been a criminal for five years - but she’d never been one alone before.  What if all of her connections knew she was no longer with the Joker?  What if she couldn’t get fake ID?  She didn’t even have any money.  The only person she might be able to go to would be her old college friend Lexi, but she knew the Joker, too, and there was no guarantee she hadn’t been turned against Harley as well.

               The thought sobered her.  Gotham felt lost to her, and she didn’t know where else to go.  She’d no longer be protected by bodyguards and a penthouse you could only enter with the right fingerprint. She’d be on the street and she didn’t know how to do that _for fuck’s sake, she was a doctor!_   She felt herself fill with rage at the Joker. She’d given up her entire life for him and yet he didn’t trust her the _one time_ that things looked bad? 

                _Goddamn men._

               She stopped pacing and glanced at the monitor in her cell.  Now they’d taken to playing surveillance footage of her time working here.  Harley wasn’t sure if they were trying to unsettle her, or reacquaint her with Harleen, but the first wasn’t working and the second one wasn’t necessary.  Even now, the soft voice of Harleen whispered in the back of her mind, reminding her that the Joker had excellent reason not to trust people and that his reaction in that scenario couldn’t have been more predictable; the fact that it pissed her off didn’t make it a psychological aberration or one that she shouldn't have seen coming. 

               _I know that,_ she answered.  _I’m still pissed._

_You’re angry at him because you’re scared, and you don’t like being scared,_ Harleen answered.

               Harley huffed to herself and sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering what Dr. Strange had in store for her and watching her old self on the monitor…so serious, so earnest, so genuine in her desire to help the man sitting across from her, who had murdered his entire family and claimed to remember nothing.  The video had been taken maybe two or three months before she met the Joker, and for a moment she asked herself if she’d want to go back to that moment and do things differently. 

               No.  That wasn’t the answer.  She just had to get out of here and get _him_ out of here and talk to him face to face, make him see reason.  Even if she escaped without nothing but the clothes on her back, she’d figure it out.  Harley Quinn, the Queen of Gotham, was not a wimp.  And there was _no way in hell_ that the two of them were over.     

* * *

 

               It was the middle of the night and Julie was in her office waiting.

               She knew the shift changed at 12 and she’d taken it upon herself to watch the surveillance footage from other nights. By 1 AM, the night shift guards had done rounds, assured themselves all was well and could be found drinking the beer they’d smuggled in and playing on their phones in the laundry room.  The lead guard always left his big ring of keys on the desk outside and Julie suspected the elevator key was on there.  All she had to do was get the keys without making a racket and she was pretty sure she could do all the exploring she wanted

               Julie reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of foldable ballet slippers, slipping them on her feet and leaving her work heels under the desk.  Today, she’d dressed in black and charcoal gray and she’d taken off her white lab coat so that she was less visible.  She’d never done anything illegal in her life, but she watched a lot of Law & Order and she knew the rules. 

               She shoved her phone in the back pocket of her pants along with her office key and stuck her head out of the door, double checking that no one was around, but it was silent. Taking a deep breath, she padded quietly along the corridors until she reached the laundry room.  It had an open entrance and then a door that led to the washers and dryers.

               The guards were where she expected them; she could hear the sound of Jon Cryer yelling at Charlie Sheen and their laughter through the door.  Just to the left of the door, there was a low table at which Johnson had left the massive ring of keys.   _Thank God for predictable men,_ Julie thought.  She carefully pulled the keys from the table, cradling them with her other hand so that they wouldn’t make noise, and backed out toward the hallway.  Despite moving slowly, she jammed her hipbone into a laundry cart in the dark. The cart’s wheels clacked and the keys in her hand jangled. 

               Julie froze, cursing herself for not being more careful, but the noises from the laundry room continued unabated.  She slowly let out a breath and backed out into the hallway, which was at least dimly lit by the security lights.  From the laundry, it was just a short distance to the original elevator, the one that had been built with the asylum and was hardly ever used. The only one that had access to the lower levels.  She punched the call button, hiding the keys behind her back _just in case_ , and was relieved when the door opened immediately.

               One of the keys on the ring looked older than the rest, like a relic from the early days of the Asylum over 100 years ago.  Julie knew the elevator was original equipment; it never failed to remind her of that with its frightening creaky sounds and jerky stops upon reaching a floor.  With any luck the antique key would be the one she needed to get to the restricted floors.  Her hand was shaking and she had a hard time finding the keyhole, but she finally managed to slip the key inside. It turned with a creak and the panel lit up, making the lower levels available to her. She decided to start at the bottom and chose the lowest floor. 

               The elevator dropped, matching the feeling in the pit of Julie’s stomach.  She’d always been told it was just a storage area, full of old files from long-dead patients – why was this making her so nervous?  It felt like more than the fear of getting caught. She felt like she was in real danger and had the odd thought that she wished she had taken the Joker with her. 

               _Stop it_.  _There’s probably nothing worse than mold down there. You’re turning this into a damn Nancy Drew mystery when all you’ve got is one patient who isn’t where you were told he was. He could have been transferred to a dozen other places.  The Joker is fucking with your head. That’s what he does, remember?  That’s what he did to Dr. Quinzel and you’re walking right off the same cliff._

               The elevator jerked to a halt and Julie wrenched the sliding door open and watched the doors beyond it slowly part.  The lower level was as dim as the upper corridors, lit only by security lights. She made her way out of the elevator, flashing back to every horror movie she’d ever seen where the heroine, despite every indication that she should not go into the basement, goes into the basement.  

               But none of the horror movies she’d watched with her sorority sisters at school had prepared her for what happened next.  A cackling noise startled her and she spun around to see a man laughing at her, his hands wrapped around the bars of his cell.  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she stepped closer, she realized he had only one eye.  _And it was in the middle of his face._  

               She gasped and jumped back, backing away from the cell.  Behind her, she heard crying…someone choking, trying to stutter out words. More than one person.  Julie walked slowly toward the noise, taking care to stay in the middle of the aisle, away from the hands that strained out from every cell, trying to touch her. The ones that could speak catcalled at her, but they were in the minority.  Most just moaned and growled.  It sounded like a zoo but there were no animals here. 

_Was she dreaming?  Had she hit her head, this was a nightmare? It had to be. It could not be real._  She heard a thumping sound and turned her head to see a woman walking into the wall repeatedly.  She walked into the wall, her head canted forward so that it hit first. When it did, she shook her head, backed up a few steps and then repeated the process.

               “Stop that!”  She cried out at her.  “You’re hurting yourself!”  She could see the green and black bruises on her head and the crusted blood with blonde hair stuck to it.  Small rivulets of fresh blood ran down the woman’s face.   When the woman turned at the sound, she saw that her eyes were a solid light gray, shiny and flat.  She saw nothing. 

               “Please…sit down!” Julie tried to take an authoritarian tone of voice, hoping the command would get through, but after a second, the woman walked into the wall again.  Julie flinched when she hit it and gritted her teeth, walking on toward the crying noises.

               In the last cell, she found two children, on the floor.  They were naked and she could see that their backs had been grafted together.  The stitches were fresh; the procedure couldn’t have taken place more than a few days earlier.  They lay shivering and sobbing.  When they saw her, they tried to get up but fell repeatedly, trying to adapt to their new connection.

               “Help us…” one of them cried out.  It was the little boy, whose face she could see.  The girl faced the other direction, continuing to cry softly.

               Julie lost it.  She looked for an access card slot on their cell but it wasn't there. She tried every key on the ring but none opened their cell. She ran back down the hallway, looking for something to use to pry the door, but found nothing.  She stood there for a second, shaking, as the sounds escalated, the inmates excited at seeing a new face.  It seemed that everywhere she turned, she saw something worse.  A woman with two massive bird’s wings where her arms had been, her face in a bowl of food, licking desperately at the bottom. 

               “Dr. Landis!”

               She spun around at the sound. It was Mack Romano. Julie dashed down the cellblock to her left, toward him.  When she got to his cell, her hands went to her face of their own volition and it was all she could do not to cover her eyes. 

               Her former patient was suspended in a harness in the middle of the room, in a cylindrical frame.  His legs and arms had been removed and dressings covered the stumps.  He was nothing more than a muscled human torso and a head.  Tubes ran in and out of his body and he was connected to multiple monitors. 

_This has to be a dream. This CAN NOT be real. Wake up!  You have to wake up!_

               “Doc, you gotta help me. You gotta kill me. I don’t know what they’re going to make me into but you gotta kill me, please.  I know you’re not like them…kill me, please,” he begged her, his eyes desperate. 

               Julie couldn’t speak.  She knew if it was real, she had to do something but she couldn’t even think that far.   Couldn’t even _process_ it.  It was a nightmare. A surrealist’s version of Hell.  A modern day concentration camp. _Just as the Joker had said._

               She tore back toward the stairwell, afraid to wait for the elevator and terrified that she’d be stuck there forever, becoming the newest experiment.  Julie fumbled with the keys to find one that would get her out of here. She could still hear Romano behind her.  Begging for death.

               “Kill me, doc. I know you can get the drugs.  Come back and kill me, you can’t let them do this to me, kill me!”

               Julie found the right key and got it into the lock.  A second later, she was bolting up the stairs two at a time.  Tears ran down her face and she felt like she couldn’t get air.  She was shaking all over, her knees were weak but she had to reach the top, couldn’t get trapped down there, that was hell, it was literally hell, how could that even exist?  And it wasn’t a dream, she knew it from the pain as she missed a stair and hit her ankle bone, from the damp air and the disgusting smell in the stairwell, this was real, it was real, _dear God it was real_ , and now she knew about it.

               _What had he done?  What had she been a part of?_

_The Josef Mengele of our time._

The Joker, the fucking _Joker_ , was right all along, and she hadn’t listened.  Hadn’t thought it was this bad.  Thought Romano was a one time thing.  She would never get the images out of her head now, the patients without eyes, the patients wearing shock collars, the lobotomized patients whose dead stares made them resemble zombies, and even worse, the transplant and grafting experiments, which had created modern-day Frankenstein monsters out of what had once been human beings…even children. 

               _Whose children?  They hadn’t been inmates._

               She got to the top and stood there, panting.  

               _The Effects of Sensory Deprivation on Schizophrenia._ She’d read it in school.  It was considered a brilliant research paper.  But Strange had lied in it; he’d said his subjects already lacked their sight or their hearing.

               _He’d taken those things away._ Because these people didn’t matter.  These people had no one looking after them, no one who cared.  The depravity shocked her to the bone.  And there he sat, in his office, pulling down a six-figure salary, bitching about the fucking _tea_ not being any good in between trips to the basement to torture human beings. 

_If they know you know, they’ll kill you. You know they will.  They did the things below.  They won’t think twice.  Or they’ll just put you down there.  One more subject.  He’s got Dr. Quinzel in a cage.  We’re all experiments to him._

              Julie dashed up the last flight of stairs, trying to think.  _Don’t draw attention to yourself, you have to pull it together, get out of here, call the police, you have to get out of here.  Your job is to make it out the gate, you can’t help anyone if you don’t make it out the gate. Pull it together, you have to pull it together!_  

               She opened the door and looked left and right, seeing no one.  Julie meant to go straight to her office and get her car keys, but she found herself in front of the Joker’s cell.  He laughed when he saw her tear-stained face and how disheveled and sweaty she was.

               “Dr. Landis!  Tough night?”

               “You –“  she could barely get the words out, still out of breath from her charge up the stairs.

               “Come on. Out with it.” He shook his hand in the air.

               “You were right,” she managed to gasp out. 

               “Those are the three little words that _really_ make every man’s heart sing!” the Joker exclaimed.  “What happened, sweetheart, you finally get the full tour of this state of the art facility for the mentally ill?” 

               “I don’t understand,” Julie cried.  “There are inspections. There are – Strange has bosses!”

               The Joker just grinned at her. “Come on, you’re a smart girl.  Think about what you just said.”

               _Strange has bosses._

_Who funds this place?  What’s really keeping the lights on?_

               Julie gasped. “You told me. You told me the first day I met you.”

               “No telling how many of them could have been saved if you’d figured it out faster.  Oh, well, not everyone can be a genius like me…” the Joker observed cheerfully.  Julie’s heart sank at the truth of his words.  “I haven’t figured out why I’m not down there with the rest of them, drooling on myself.”

               “Because he’s experimenting on your head through me!”  The words tumbled out.  “He broke you and Dr. Quinzel up.  It was all a set up.  And then he brought me in and changed my face so I’d look more like her.  He wants to know how to control you, and people like you.  I thought it was for research but it’s not.  He wants his own personal army.  He wants the same power as the men who pay him!”

               The man in front of her stared for just a second and then started laughing.  Softly at first, but it kept escalating until she was sure he could have been heard in another state. 

               “Hoo! Let me get this right, Doctor Strange thinks he can control me?  No one controls me. _I_ don’t even control me!”  The Joker was laughing so hard he could barely talk, doubling over and holding his hand to his chest.  He finally managed to stifle it long enough to continue.  “Well, Dr. Landis, _tell me_ , is this what you went to medical school to do?  This mesh with your idea of that…Hippocratic oath?”

               “I’m leaving.  I’ll call the police. I’ll get help,” she promised.

               He laughed at her naivete.  “You really think there’s no surveillance down there?  You’re never leaving here, doctor.  At least, not without my help.”

               They both heard the footsteps. Dr. Strange and his two hulking bodyguards were coming down the cellblock.  Julie’s mouth fell open.  _I’m dead. I’m going to die down there._

               She made a decision. Pulling her key card from around her neck, she started swiping the cells open, starting with the Joker’s.  Julie moved down the cellblock swiftly, freeing the inmates.  Behind her, she heard the sounds of fighting, cries of pain and the Joker’s laughter.  She knew someone might turn on her, but at this point she’d take a shiv to the throat over ending up downstairs, and right now the only thing that felt _right_ was setting these people free, at least giving everyone a fighting chance.  When she got to the end and turned around, the bodyguards and Dr. Strange were on the ground.  The inmates had all bolted for the door except for the Joker and Dr. Crane, who hadn’t even woken up and was still burrowed into the blankets on his cot. 

               “Is he dead?” she asked the Joker, looking at Strange, who was slumped on the ground in a heap.  The bodyguards clearly were, their throats cut and their blood pooling on the floor beneath them.

               “What fun would that be?  I’m thinking a little _eye for an eye_ is in order.”  He gave her an evil smile just before the alarms started to go off, and for the first time, she didn’t flinch at that look.  “Better go now, doctor. I wouldn’t be found here…if I were you.”

               "But I have to save them!  All those people down there!"

               The Joker just rolled his eyes.  "Are you gonna carry them?  Get out!  Then you can call the GCPD or whatever idiots like you who play by the rules  _do._ "  

               She stared at him until he spun her around by her shoulders and gave her a little shove.  Julie, still not totally convinced she was conscious, jumped over the bodies in front of her and ran for her office.  The Joker watched her go, chuckling softly, before he went into the next cell and threw a full glass of water on the sleeping form of Jonathan Crane.  Crane sputtered incoherently and jumped up, swinging at nothing, as the Joker laughed.

               “-the fuck!”

               “Wake _up_ , sunshine!  It’s party time.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there with me and my inconsistent posting! We've got two more chapters to go after this and there'll be a surprise or two coming up.

              

The whooping of the alarms woke Harley and she bolted from the bed, craning her neck to see if she could see anything.  A couple of guards ran by her, but the action seemed to be elsewhere.  From above her, she heard the muffled sound of gunfire.

               _C’mon, Puddin!_

               She prayed it was him.  It didn’t matter what he thought; she just had to see him.  She’d take her chances on how that turned out.

               More gunfire.  The sound of lockdown doors slamming.

               _Damn it!_ Harley paced back and forth in her cell.  She couldn’t see anything and she guessed the guards on this floor had gone to help the other level.  Harley looked around the cell, desperately seeking something that might break the glass and set her free, but there was nothing that wasn’t bolted to the floor. Even her books were paperbacks. 

               There was a loud clang that she recognized as the main door to the corridor opening and then she heard it, so low at first that she considered that her mind might be playing tricks on her.  But it grew louder and she knew it was real.  She could hear footsteps and a muttered one-sided conversation. A moment later it was followed by the Joker’s low laugh. 

               “J!” she screamed as loud as she could into the darkness. 

               “All right, _try_ not to wake the dead, I’d hate to have to shoot ‘em again,” he muttered.  Before she could even process that he was _right there_ , he had pulled open the door and grabbed her by the wrist and then he was pulling her down the hallway and she was running in the darkness, blindly, his hand on her wrist the only guide.  She didn't care.  All she could think about was that he was touching her again and her worst nightmare, that she would never even see him again, had not come true.

               She tried to say something again but he just shushed her and then he was opening another door into the light and the stairwell and they were running down it. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she struggled to keep up with his frenetic pace in her bare feet.  The alarms seemed to get louder by the second as they raced down to the ground level. Harley didn’t tend toward pessimism as a rule, but she had an idea of the kind of firepower that kept Arkham under control and they were unarmed. She felt herself starting to panic and pushed it away.  _Run_.  _Don’t think._  

               They tore out of the first floor stairwell door and were immediately drenched in cold water.  _Of course,_ Harley thought, _they turned the sprinklers on.  Trying to subdue all the residents of max with cold water like fighting dogs._ She had only been wearing the oversized shirt they’d given her to sleep in and she was freezing, but she just kept running, her chest and throat hurting from the effort of breathing.  She’d had no exercise other than pacing in her cell for months, and she could tell.  Her wet feet slid on the floor and she almost fell several times but the momentum of the Joker yanking her along kept her upright.   

               They skidded around the corner and charged through the front doors, the Joker throwing something off to the side that Harley thought was a bomb at first but then realized was just one of the little flip phones the guards carried.  The familiar sight of their limo idling at the curb almost made her cry and she would have slowed down and given it a better look if he hadn’t been propelling her toward the door at breakneck speed.  She heard the bullets start just as they made it to the car which was, thankfully, bulletproof. 

               The Joker threw her into the back of the limo, leaping in after her and pulling the door closed as Jonny sped off.  They were both soaking wet and Harley could smell the residue of gunpowder, cigarette smoke and aftershave coming off of him like a cloud.  She inhaled sharply, feeling like she could finally breathe again. The panel was closed, blocking her view, but she knew that Jonny must be at the wheel.  Between the dark and the tinted windows, she could see nothing more than blurry lights outside, but she heard a loud scrape as the Arkham gates caught both sides of the car as it sped through.  A moment later the car squealed around a corner, throwing them together against the door. 

               Harley sucked in her breath as she hit her head against the window. The Joker stared at her, a thousand things running through his head.  He wanted it to stop; he wanted it all to stop; there had been too many things in his head over the past months, things that weren’t _allowed_ there, things he had banished away twenty years ago. They buzzed around the inside of his head like bees, interfering with his sleep, interfering with his focus.  He didn’t want to think anymore and there she was, like always, looking at him with that mixture of worship and lust, her wet shirt clinging to her, so fucking beautiful that he ached to touch her.

 _She’s mine.  I own her._ He registered somewhere that he would have owed her an apology if he had been an ordinary man, but he was the Joker. He did not _apologize_ and he was not going to start now.  She was damn lucky to have a second chance with him and he needed to make sure she knew that. 

               They looked at each other for an instant and when he growled low in his throat, Harley knew that she’d won.  Still she waited, as tense as a coiled spring, waiting for him to take the lead and willing herself unsuccessfully to stop shivering.  He shook his head slowly and bent forward, his bare chest pressing against her and making her dizzy, to whisper into her ear.

               “ _You’re not forgiven_.”

               His mouth moved from her ear to her neck and bit down and she gasped.  He had both hands twisted into the fabric of her t-shirt and it pulled painfully against her neck as he bit and sucked his way down toward her collarbone, devouring her.  She snaked her hand in between them, sliding it down to his zipper. He was hard, straining against the fabric of his pants and she worked quickly to unbutton them so she could touch bare flesh.

 _You’re angry, but you still want me and isn’t that how we started?_ As long as he still wanted her, she could fix this.  _I can fix anything as long as I can touch you._

               She wrenched away from him, and slipped down, kneeling on the floor to take him in her mouth, reveling in the familiar taste of his skin, in the surge of power she felt at the effect she had on him.  She felt his hands thread their way through her wet hair as her tongue swirled around the head and worked its way down the vein that ran the length of the underside.  Harley felt him shiver and twitch despite himself and knew how he was feeling by the way his hands twisted in her hair.  She held her breath and drew him into her mouth so far that he hit the back of her throat. At that, he groaned out loud and a second later, yanked her back up to face him.  He grabbed the neck of the shirt again and in one hard pull, tore it from her.  The wet fabric pulling against her rib cage hurt, but Harley was oblivious.  He spun her around so she landed on her back on the seat, and a second later, he had his hand between her legs and she arched up against him, driving his fingers deep inside her.   She squirmed and moaned, clenching around him.  _God, his hands_.  This was her drug, one that she’d nearly lost her mind withdrawing from over the past few months.  She was struggling to get his wet pants the rest of the way down when the limo hit a pothole and they were both thrown to the floor. 

               He fell first and she landed on top of him, her wet hair everywhere. 

               “Goddamn it, Harley,” he grumbled, sputtering at the hair in his face. They looked at each other for a second before she started giggling. She couldn’t help it.  He looked so funny, wet hair plastered to his forehead – inches of brown roots with green ends from his stay in Arkham. The limo skidded around a corner and he took the opportunity to roll her over and pin her down again, but she was hardly fighting him.  She strained toward him, bringing her knees up and writhing toward him, but he held her fast and she couldn’t _quite_ reach what she craved.

               “You gonna keep laughing?” he asked her, his voice a growl.

               “You gonna shut me up?” she sassed back, knowing he loved it.  In answer, he covered her mouth with his and thrust into her.  Harley moaned deep in her throat at the feeling.  She could hear sirens and knew they were being chased by the GCPD but somehow that just made it even more exciting.  She forgot she was wet, she forgot she was cold, nothing mattered except that they were together again and oh, _God_ , it felt even better than she’d remembered. 

               Another corner and they rolled over again and she knew he had collided pretty hard with the base of the bar that ran along one side of the car, but he didn’t react. He just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her so close she could hardly breathe and looked deep into her eyes. She met his stare and winked at him, teasing him with her internal muscles and watching him try to act like he wasn’t affected _at all._

               And failing.

               The car swerved a few times, taking evasive action and they heard the staccato sound of gunfire against the bulletproof glass and the steel around it.  Harley felt the Joker tense at the sound and a gleam came into his eye. It was one of his favorite noises in all the world.  He rolled her over and began drilling into her as the sound of the bullets intensified.  The combination was electric.  She wrapped her legs around him, trying to pull him even deeper inside her, craving the mix of pleasure and pain that only he could provide.  They felt and heard the scrape of metal as the car collided with something along one side, but both were too far gone to care.  The sound of his deep groan as he came pushed her over the edge and she dug her nails into his back, crying out in pleasure and bucking up against him. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder and loved that he had marked her again.  _His.  Always his._

               They separated, trying to catch their breaths. The car was still speeding along but the gunfire had stopped.  The Joker pulled his pants back up and leaned over to tap the monitor on the front panel. The street view popped up and showed that they were almost at the penthouse and Harley breathed a sigh of relief.  Once inside the underground parking, they were as safe as you could be.  The place was a fortress – the Joker had seen to that. 

               Harley felt the familiar sound as the car hit the ramp and the hiss as the hydraulic overhead door closed behind them.  _Home_.   A wave of utter relief washed over her and she gave him a goofy smile, knowing she must look ridiculous sitting there dripping on his leather seats but not caring. They were out, they were out, they were out! 

               They came to a stop and the Joker slid the door open, Harley following him out with the goofy smile still on her face.   Jonny was standing there and Harley smiled at him. She really wanted to give him a bear hug but reminded herself that, given that she looked like she’d just come from a wet t-shirt contest, the Joker would _not_ be amused.

               “Sorry about the car, boss. They were coming at me from every side and I had to lose ‘em.” 

               The Joker and Harley turned around to look at the limo, their mouths falling open simultaneously.  It looked like it had been in a war.  The entire side was dented with deep scrapes, and the trim hadn’t made it home, leaving a long strip of metal dots along the side where it had been.  The side view mirror was gone and all the windows had shattered halos dotting them like snowflakes. 

               Jonny looked like he expected the Joker to explode but his boss just shrugged. “Gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet.”  He headed to the elevator.

               “Nice driving!” Harley whispered to Jonny with a smile and a wink, before hurrying after the Joker.  Jonny was left shaking his head.  He never thought he’d end up being grateful to the Batman for interrupting their plans, but as his mom used to say, if you live long enough, you’ll see it all.  _Crazy fucking night, as usual._

               He grabbed his briefcase out of the wrecked limo and headed to his own car.  It was long past time for a drink, the night was still young, and the girls at the Grin and Bare It were always happy to see him.  There was no reason his boss should have all the fun. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker and Harley have a visitor, while Julie has her entire life turned upside down by an offer she can't refuse.

                Harley startled fully awake when she realized she was alone in bed. 

                _No…oh God, he changed his mind._

                She bolted from the bed, realizing it was still the middle of the night.  Harley grabbed a robe and wrapped it around herself as she dashed out of the bedroom in a panic. 

                But he wasn’t gone; he was just standing at the glass looking out at the lights of the city with a drink in his hand, smoking a cigarette.  Harley felt like her knees would collapse in sheer relief when she saw him.

                “Puddin’?”

                He turned to her, looking troubled and on edge.

                “You know, it was _easier_ being alone,” he muttered.

                She stood quietly, folding her hands in front of her.  He put his drink down and stepped to her, standing so close that she could smell the liquor on his breath when he spoke.

                “And I don’t want to hear about how sorry you are. I know you’re sorry. Sorry doesn’t mean shit if we’re dead, sweetheart,” he hissed.

                Harley took a deep breath and stayed silent.  He’d gotten her out. He’d taken her with him. It didn’t matter what he said.  That action spoke louder than words and if he was a little harsh with her, well, she’d always known what she was signing on for. 

                He stepped forward again, backing her up until she was against the glass wall.  He put his hand on it, next to her head and leaned in.

                “When I give you an order, you obey.”

                Harley nodded.

                “I didn't – I just fucked up.” 

                “Don’t fuck up again.”  He leaned closer and captured her lips in a kiss before she could respond. She pressed herself up against him, relief flooding through her, and slid her hands around his waist, narrowly resisting the urge to lock them behind his back and keep him from ever escaping again.             

* * *

                 Julie made it out of Arkham before the lockdown, breathing a deep sigh of relief and quite certain she would never drive through those gates again.  She’d go home, she told herself, and call the FBI or something.  The federal authorities couldn’t be involved, even if the local police were corrupt, she’d go over their heads.  That was the way to go.  That would work.  She’d get those patients to safety.

                But when she walked through the door of her apartment, she’d been knocked out with a single blow to the head.  When she awoke, she was tied to a chair and blindfolded. 

                _He got me. Strange somehow got away from the Joker and got me._   A million thoughts ran through her head and she thought of Mack Romano, begging for death in that dark cell, and shuddered.

                “You’re awake.”  A woman’s voice, and then they uncovered her head. 

                Julie looked around cautiously, her head throbbing and her mouth dry.  She was in an office, sitting across from an older women in a suit who looked reasonable and sane, if not kind.  Strange was nowhere to be seen, or anybody else from Arkham, and she relaxed a little.

                “Untie her,” the woman said, and the men who flanked her desk moved to let Julie loose of the bonds.  One handed her a bottle of water, and she took a long drink.

                “I’m sorry for the…disruption, but you weren’t safe where you were and we had to take immediate action without attracting attention.”  The woman flashed a badge at her, too quickly for   
Julie to catch her name, but it certainly looked official.

                Julie swallowed and tried to speak, her voice cracking.  “Who are you?  Do you know about –“

                The woman nodded.  “We know about everything.  It’s taken care of.”

                “I’m a witness. I can testify.  I'm happy to testify!  It was _horrible_.”

                “We’ve already retrieved everyone from the Asylum.  They’re the only evidence we need.”

                Julie nodded.  “You’ve got them?  You’ve got all of them?  Oh my God.   I mean…I’m a _doctor_.  That’s not…I would never be a part of that. None of us knew.  None of us knew a thing!”

                “You're not in any trouble, but we don't feel you're safe here.  We know that Dr. Strange wasn't working alone."

                _Oh God. Strange has all the personnel records.  He knows where I live!_

                "I've - I've got to move.  Dr. Strange knows where I live."    _And so does the Joker,_ Julie thought.

                The woman pulled out a manila folder from a drawer and slid it across her desk.  

                "We agree.  We’re offering you the opportunity to relocate."

                Julie took the folder and opened it to see that a new resume had been prepared for her, with an address in coastal California.  She looked up quickly.  "Is this, like...witness protection?"

                "That's your new work history, and you have new credit cards in there and a bank account to help you get through the first year.  Any counseling you may need to get past your experience is on us.  You'll sign a strict confidentiality agreement and we may check in with you from time to time.  Is leaving Gotham a problem for you?"

               "No.  Not at all."  Julie was starting to wonder if this was a weird dream.  Was she really going to drop everything here and leave?  It was better than death, and it was a lot better than what she'd seen in the lower levels of Arkham.

               The woman leaned over and put her hand on the folder to get Julie's attention  "You do understand that you won't be able to speak about Arkham or anything that you saw there?"

                "Yes, no, don't worry, I don't want to.  I just-they're out, right?  The patients are all out of Arkham?"

               Amanda Waller nodded.  "I can promise you that they've all been removed from Arkham Asylum and Hugo Strange is in custody."

 

               Early that morning, Julie was on a plane to California.  She was exhausted, but too wired to sleep.  Her new resume had thrown in a degree from Harvard Medical School, so landing a new job would be a piece of cake.  She was browsing the job listings on her laptop at this very moment, thanks to the in-flight wifi, and doing her best not to read news stories about Arkham.  From under the seat, she heard a soft meep from Miranda, who was wholly unimpressed with this flying thing.  

                An e-mail notification popped up, distracting her from her thoughts.  She clicked on it.  The words in bold nearly made her fall off her chair.

                **CONGRATULATIONS!  You’ve paid off your student loan.**

She scrolled quickly, in a state of shock. It had to be a scam, some phishing thing, but the account number was correct, and the balance showed zero.  Julie went back to her browser and logged into her account on the website. 

                _The balance was zero._

                It couldn’t be. She clicked on the payment history, confused.  There was a wire transfer, dated that morning, in the amount of $189,320.50.  She clicked on it but the only thing she could see was that it had come from a foreign account.  And a memo on the line below.

                _You’re welcome - J._  

                She gasped out loud, startling her seat mate, an older lady who had already rattled on about how excited she was to meet her daughter and grandchildren at Disney.

                “Are you okay, dear?”  Edna inquired.

                Julie exhaled slowly and looked at her. “I’m fine.  I just got some good news, but it was a surprise.”

                She only knew one person who had that kind of money, and the news had said he was still at large.

                Part of her wanted to see the Joker again, and part of her feared that she would. 

* * *

                The next morning, the Joker was in a much better mood, seemingly to have simply accepted that the entire incident was a bump in the road that they wouldn't speak of again.  Harley was greatly relieved and was surprised at how quickly being back home had put her back to her old self in a heartbeat.  At the moment, she was gleefully making strawberry pancakes.  She knew one of the things the Joker hated most about Arkham was the inedible food, and she figured it certainly didn't hurt to try to get to the Joker's heart through his stomach!

                 _I don't have a heart_ , that's what he'd say, she thought.  Oh well, what could you do?   He'd never be a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy, but he had broken her out of Arkham.  Weren't prison breaks just another love language?  Harley smiled and popped a strawberry into her mouth.  

                Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. This was so unusual that Harley had her hand on her gun before she got out of the kitchen, but the Joker was already at the door.  He had clearly been expecting their guest. 

                A young man with long brown hair was at the door, one she recognized.  He had been Dr. Jonathan Crane before his clandestine research operation had been discovered and he became just another villain in Gotham’s long line, dubbed the Scarecrow for his predilection for fear toxins as a weapon. 

                “Dr. Crane!  Have a seat.  Have some breakfast.” He motioned to the table in an unusual display of hospitality.  Harley looked at him carefully to see if this was the prelude to a murder, but she saw none of the gleam in her boyfriend’s eyes that signaled an imminent kill, so she went back into the kitchen and made up three plates of pancakes.   Meanwhile, the Joker disappeared into their bedroom.

                Harley returned to find Crane eagerly pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. They’d met before, but only briefly, generally in the middle of total chaos.  Crane didn’t often notice women but he had to admit this one was something else. He understood J’s interest in her, and Strange’s interest in studying her, immediately.  It wasn't often you found a woman equally happy to murder for you or make pancakes.

                “Thank you,” he remembered to say.  “I’ve got a little research study going on a subject you might know.  J’s being kind enough to share his toxins.”

                “Strange?” Harley guessed, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.

                “The hunter becomes the hunted,” Crane quoted with a giggle.  “From a clinical standpoint, should be fascinating to observe.  Let me know, Doctor, if you’d like to join in.  I’d be happy to extend the professional courtesy.”

                Harley shuddered.  “No thanks. He makes my skin crawl.”

                She sat down and joined him and they ate in silence for a moment, both listening to the Joker throwing things around in the other room in his usual impatience to find what he needed.  Crane looked back up to Harley in between bites.  “Good to see things are back to normal.  He was an utter wreck without you, you know.”

                Harley couldn't help how quickly she whipped her head around.  “He was?”

                “Oh _yes_.  Kept me up half the night muttering about you in his sleep and _begging_ you not to leave him.”  Jonathan nonchalantly buttered a muffin as he spoke although he knew full well the impact of his words. 

                Harley crammed a big forkful of pancakes into her mouth to hide her smile as the Joker walked back into the room, but she couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eyes.  He picked up on it immediately.

                “What were you two talking about?”

                She swallowed her food and allowed herself to smile.  “Just chatting about a fitting punishment for Strange, Puddin.’  Jonathan has some _super_ creative ideas!”

                The Joker chuckled and handed the suitcase to Crane.  “Never let it be said that I’m not a patron of the arts.”

                Harley just grinned at him, and Crane, wisely, said nothing.    


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue to this story! And yes, I will probably write another in the series at some point. I am so, so interested to see if Julie stays "good" given that she hasn't seen the last of Waller and/or some of her former patients. ;-) Thanks to those of you who are still reading despite the super inconsistent updates. I stg I am going to update Dancing on the Edge, it was just that my brain wrote Encore instead so I had to do that first!

                Dr. Jonathan Crane looked around his office and smiled with pleasure. This was more like it. A comfortable leather chair, a polished mahogany desk…his diplomas restored to their rightful place on the wall above him.  His license had been taken away years ago in one world, but fortunately, he’d discovered there was another, far better one.  He’d been skeptical at first, but Amanda Waller had come through.  Not only had she put him in charge of this brand new, top secret, underground psychiatric research facility – _so_ much nicer than the trash heap that was Arkham Asylum - but she’d let him have the housewarming gift he wanted the most.  Really _,_ for a psychopath, the woman had her good points and it was obvious she could recognize brilliance when she encountered it.       

                There was a knock on his door.  He turned to his monitor and saw that it was Vanessa, his head nurse, so he buzzed her in.

                “How is our guest doing?” he asked.

                “Not conscious yet, but I don’t think it will be long now.  Do you want me to administer anything as he wakes up?”

                Crane shook his head.  “No. I want to see him in his natural state.  I want the element of… anticipation.  I want him to know where he is, and what’s coming.”  He smiled at the nurse, who grinned back.

                “I look forward to watching you work.”

                He bet she did.  Vanessa was another ex-Arkham patient, who landed there after it was discovered she was murdering her patients.  She wasn’t the least bit unbalanced though – she was just a sadist who enjoyed watching human suffering.  Once he’d explained to her how much more fun it was to torture the mind but leave the body intact, she’d agreed to try things his way. 

                Yes, Amanda Waller knew talent and potential when she saw it, and so did he.   

 

* * *

 

 

                Amanda Waller scanned through her emails, shaking her head.  Strange might have a brilliant mind, but he couldn’t read people to save his life. Epic fail didn’t begin to describe the mess she’d had to clean up.  _If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,_ she thought.  It was a familiar thought.

                Arkham had been scrubbed within two hours of the breakout.  It was a good thing she’d diverted the alarm systems to alert her office first, but anything less would have been stupidity and stupidity was not one of her habits.  While the GCPD chased the Joker – thanks to a helpful tip she’d indirectly provided – the lower levels of Arkham were emptied out without so much as a surgical supply left to reveal how they had been used.  The location had been moved to a more secure site, an underground facility with no surface presence, and she’d allow Strange to continue his work – eventually. When she decided he’d paid for his mistake.

                She’d thought about eliminating young doctor Landis but reconsidered.  It was an _opportunity_. Landis thought Strange was the bad cop, and she the good one.  She’d put Landis into storage, as it were, until she could decide what she really wanted to do with her. After all, she had all the analysis she needed about what made the girl tick and that meant she could be reshaped into whatever Waller needed.  Pity it couldn’t be done before the April mission; she’d have been a good replacement for Harley Quinn.  But no matter.  She always had a plan B, a plan C, and a plan D.  _Multiple scenarios with a single outcome,_ she thought.  _I always win._

                Yes, someday she and Dr. Julie Landis would meet again.  She couldn’t wait to see the look on her face.


End file.
